Of Holly and Hobgoblins
by Wai-Jing Waraugh
Summary: Though surrounded by family, Sarah feels lonely at Christmas. There is a present she has not even admitted to herself that she wants. Only one person can give it to her, but will he, and she, realize her wish in time? And can she give something in return?
1. Chapter 1

**Of Holly and Hobgoblins**

_A special holiday story. I know I should be continuing my other Laby fanfic, but I got the idea for this, and it couldn't wait until next year. The two stories do not interlock, so there are no spoilers; the stories retcon each other, since they both deal with Sarah's first encounter with Jareth since the events of the film._

_All characters belong to Jim Henson, I lay no claim to them, etc. Honestly, I don't._

_Don't think I'll finish this in time for Christmas - I have too many other things to do before then - but I can try for New Years, no guarantee._

_Season's Greeting! ~ W.J._

_

* * *

  
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**Chapter One**

Sarah admired the bright glint of the red tinsel against the white snow outside the window pane. She was decorating her bedroom with bits and pieces left over from doing up the rest of the house. There were pieces of left-over tinsel, broken off from the long strings and too short for the tree, strung along her window sill and woven into the frame of her bed head. She had tied sprigs of holly round the necks of all her favourite soft toys with bits of red ribbon – all except for Lancelot, who was Toby's favourite toy when he came to her room to visit her, and she didn't want him to get prickled. She adorned shelves and picture frames with more sprigs, lovingly affixing some holly to the photo of her mother and Jeremy.

As she finished, she accidentally jostled a nearby shelf with her elbow; books and knick-knacks toppled over and fell to the floor with a thud. Sighing at her own clumsiness, she stooped to pick them up; luckily it looked like nothing was damaged. She hadn't looked through these things in a while… there were some little curiosities she had picked up, like acorns with faces drawn on them she had bought for a nickel from a stall at a local fete when she was six; paper dolls Jeremy had cut out for her to entertain her one rainy afternoon; a very smooth, pale-green pebble like a piece of jade that she had found in the brook that ran through the park and kept like a piece of treasure… There were books she had loved as a child, but hadn't looked at much in later years… ah, a beautiful storybook version of The Nutcracker, a favourite old classic just right for the yuletide season… and that was-

She froze. Lying on the pale carpet, as red as the tinsel had been against the snow, was the deep vermillion cover of what had once been her favourite book. The Labyrinth.

It wasn't her favourite book any more.

She picked it up almost gingerly, remembering what had happened the last time she had read it, many months ago… _running down an endless path between towering walls which stretched forever… scrambling through underground tunnels as spinning blades whirled at her back… dark, foreboding forests on the banks of putrid pools, that unforgettable stench… sinister castle spires whose inside walls twisted the very laws of physics and gravity…_

And him. She couldn't think about that place without thinking of him, he who reigned over it all, who had manipulated it in order to oppose her, to keep her from her brother… _those taunting, odd-hued eyes, that cold, almost snarl-like smile…_

As she reluctantly picked the book up off the floor, her fingertips brushed against something hard. Wondering, she lifted the book to reveal a fallen statuette lying beneath it… a little figurine modeled in the shape of a man, looking regal, dressed in courtly costume with the hem of his long cloak fluttering, frozen in suspended motion at his heels, his outstretched hand persistently offering her a tiny crystal ball…

She started and almost dropped the books and toys she had just picked up. She remembered now. She had put these things on an out-of-the way shelf. Most of them were there just because she had outgrown them but didn't want to throw them away… but others had been placed there so they would be out of sight, and hence easier to forget…

She plunked the objects heavily back on their shelf with an air of defiance, resisting the urge to either drop the last two as though they were burning her fingers, or to hurl them out into the snow in disgust. But she couldn't quite bring herself to. Her mother used to read her that book when she was little, it had been their favourite story for play-acting… and Jeremy had bought that figurine for her on her mother's advice one day while they were out, because she had purported that it looked very much like someone, or at least very much like she had imagined him to look…

She pushed them to the very back of the shelf and shoved other belongings in front of them, so she couldn't even see them. She busied herself with putting up the remaining holly sprigs, but their presence in the room still unnerved her, like a pebble in the shoe you were wearing that you couldn't see, but could constantly feel. The memories seemed to dig into her psyche, unearthing things she had tried to bury in deep…

It had been a difficult year. She didn't want to think of that now, this close to the end of it and the start of a new one. Now that things were finally turning out right. She felt a lot happier now, a lot more content in her own life than she had a few months ago. Now she had become accustomed to having Toby around the house, and he didn't seem quite as much of the brat he had seemed before; when he wasn't crying or fussy, he was almost fun, and she noticed now how much he seemed to idolize her, babbling nonsensically at her whenever she came near him, in what was nevertheless an unmistakably adoring fashion. She also got along a lot better with her stepmother now than she had before; they were closer to being friends and further from being outright enemies now. Irene was still not quite a parent, since she would never replace Sarah's own mother; but at least they shared always civil, mostly friendly, verbal exchanges now, instead of constantly being at each others' throats. Even her father seemed to have more time for her now, taking her shopping at the mall and for hot chocolate at a local café recently; even for a few quiet walks in the park, something they hadn't done together since she was very little, and her mother had still lived with them…

She wouldn't see her this Christmas. Other times she had gone to stay with her mother and Jeremy in a hotel over the holiday season, or they would come back to their house here and she would stay with them there; but their theatre company was performing a Christmas pantomime on the other side of the country, so they couldn't come home and they would be too busy to make too much of Christmas with her there. They had told her she was better off staying here, celebrating Christmas with Toby in the house; it would be one of the first few Christmases he had seen, and since he was now old enough to understand the idea of what 'Christmas' was, or rather the gifts and toys it entailed, it would possibly one of the most exciting ones for him. It would be fun to witness his enjoyment, and perhaps even join in.

The clock in the hall downstairs struck three. She finished absently fiddling with the last holly sprig, and snatched up her purse from her desk, also grabbing a scarf and warm knitted gloves which were ready-laid on her bed. She had to run down the street to the corner store to pick up some extra wrapping paper before the shops shut for Christmas Eve. Toby had decided to go for a paper-chase through their previous stock earlier in the day, so now she needed to buy more. She had quite a few gifts to wrap, gifts she had picked out with care, and she wanted them to look nice for the ones who would receive them.

Pausing at the door of her room, she stopped and looked back at the shelf with an almost accusatory glance. She could just see the top of the figurine's head in its dim depths, as though over the top of an uneven picket-fence made up of the books she had thrust in front of it.

_I certainly won't be giving a present to you,_ she thought vehemently at it. Then, giving it a final glare, she hurried out of the room, as though she almost feared any response the figurine might muster. But it stayed impassively silent. After all, it was just a figurine made of plastic.

* * *

"Psst, fellas, check these out!"

So saying, Hoggle parted his coat, rather like a shifty salesperson selling imitation Rolexes. Except the comparison would've been lost on Hoggle, since he had never been far enough up in the Aboveground to meet a Rolex salesman. Or any other human, for that matter. Save, perhaps, one. But she had gone down to the Underground, not the other way around. The curious bulges about Hoggle's lapels were instantly explained as he revealed the stash hidden beneath them – Christmas baubles like those that adorned trees were pinned to the inside of his coat, all different colours and sizes. Even here in the dim shadows of the imposing castle hallways, they all shined in a whimsical, twinkling way. The other goblins gaped at Hoggle's prizes. They'd never seen anything like it.

"Wow!" one murmured reverently. "They sure is pretty things!"

"Where'd you get 'em?" asked another, a distinct shade of envy in his voice.

"Salvaged 'em in the tunnels under the Aboveground," Hoggle answered with professional pride. He'd acquired his entire collection of jewells in a similar fashion. "This time o' year, I seen people runnin' back and forth with boxes of 'em, and sometimes they drop them and they roll down drains and such. They're practically there for the takin'."

"They look tasty," observed one dim-witted Goblish specimen. "Can I look closer? That one's shaped like a turnip…"

His grubby little goblin hand reached for a squat, fat bauble that ended in a rather root-like point, licking his lips; the fact that the 'vegetable' had a puce-pink metallic sheen didn't seem to bother him.

"Eh, mitts off!" Hoggle pushed his hand aside and folded his coat across his body protectively, hiding his new acquisitions from sight. "These is Christmas baubles, not brussel sprouts."

"Christmas? Wassat?" asked another curious goblin.

"It's like a big party," Hoggle explained, "that goes on for days, with laughing an' singing an' drinking an' feasting an-"

"There's food?!" several goblins said as one, voices full of awe. Goblins were greedy by nature, and they had simple, easily-met standards. Usually the 'F' word was enough to get their undivided attention.

"Yup, and lots of it," Hoggle affirmed, as the other goblins listened in uncharacteristic silence. "I think it's rather like our old victory feasts. You know, like a return from war campaigns. Not that there's been a war here in years, mind," he added hastily. The other goblins nodded obediently. They had all been witness to how thoroughly their king could quash – or more accurately, squash underfoot – any unnecessarily unruly behaviour. Goblins could be expected to be naturally unruly at any given time – it was all they could be, really – but while they might squabble like naughty children, nowadays it never degenerated into full-scale combat. Not with the King standing over them, a vengeful cane ready to swoop down on the diminutive perpetrators. "I seen them humans carrying bags of swag," Hoggle continued, "like they just come back from raiding an enemy camp, sacks full o' loot. An' they distribute the stuff to each other in a big ceremony, gloatin' over them around a big tree covered with them baubles an' with fireflies glued to the branches. Then they sing songs, an' eat too much food, an' drink too much grog, an' fall down asleep at the end."

"Just like us at our feasties!" observed a goblin, nudging his neighbour excitedly. The others nodded in agreement."

"I suppose," Hoggle assented doubtfully. After all, he supposed, it wasn't too different… although the chickens at the human celebrations usually weren't live any more… and there was far less spitting and bone-chewing and all-round rowdiness at the human occasions. Still some, but not half as much.

"So how come we've never gotten any of this stuff?" asked one of the greedier goblins – though they were all about even in those stakes – as it poked Hoggle's bulging coat with a long, boney finger. "An' I thought you said the one who brought them was supposed to share…?"

Hoggle clutched his coat collar protectively, but the other goblins were already closing in on him. At an invisible signal, they all darted in and made a mad grab. Baubles flew like hail, with the goblins all scrambling after them, each trying to catch them all at once. Hoggle, initially knocked off his feet by the onslaught, recovered enough to scramble after a bright-blue one and clutched it possessively; another hand closed over it, a pair of eyes giving him a warning glance. He returned it glare for glare; a third set of hands and eyes suddenly joined the competition. There was a mad jostle; then the bauble flew from their grasp like a cork popping from a bottle, hurtling upwards. They all scrambled underneath it, pushing each other out of the way, other goblins joining in as they all tried to position themselves underneath it. All pairs of beady little eyes watched as it went up, slowed, hung in midair for a moment's breadth, then began to come down, towards the mass of outstretch hands all reaching out to catch it…

Those who hadn't taken their eyes off it to shove his neighbour aside noticed a curious change in the bauble on its way down; its colour seemed to suddenly fade, from pale blue to cream then past white even, until they could see right through it… like it had suddenly become a ball of transparent crystal…

Two feet above their heads, a hand interrupted its descent and closed around it. The hand was in a glove of black leather, giving it the appearance of the talons of some predatory bird. The hand flexed around it, seeming to possess just as much power.

"Well, what have we here?" asked a laconic voice, laced with an irony that was mostly lost on the Goblish rabble, but with a softly-dangerous tone that they all instantly grasped, like a dagger whispering through cloth.

"Nothing," they answered in an almost practiced-seeming, and utterly unconvincing, chorus. Far too late, shiny baubles were whisked behind backs, but the half-guilty, half-hopeful expressions remained on their faces. The Goblin King surveyed them cynically, one eyebrow warningly raised in enquiry, though he was quite aware of what was going on. The Goblins, like a bunch of children playing 'Statues', stayed perfectly still as they tried to innocently return his piercing gaze; but they shivered here and there with a nervousness that needed no explanation, save experience. Experience of what happened to one when one was caught doing what one shouldn't. Experience of scathing admonishments, usually followed by a descending cane upon one's head, or a sharp boot-toe kicking one's rear end.

"Really?" Jareth asked, his tone condescendingly pleasant. "It doesn't look like nothing. It's far too shiny for mere nothing."

"Is' nuffig rully. Nah shuny stuh hur." The dimwitted goblin spoke, his innocent smile stretching around the large pink bauble in his mouth, in plain sight. The other goblins groaned in dismay.

"You have a large, shiny 'nothing' stuck in your teeth." Jareth neatly swiped the goblin across the back of the head with his cane.

"Ptui!" Knocked loose by the impact, the bauble shot out of the goblin's mouth and bounced on the stone floor; Jareth deftly kicked it with the toe of his boot and it flew towards his open hand, easily catching it by the little loop of string it hung from. Its presence could no longer be denied. The goblins hung their heads sheepishly.

"He did it!" Relinquishing all ownership of the previously-coveted treasure, all the goblins instantly rounded on Hoggle, dobbing fingers lancing at him from all directions. Hoggle was somewhat taken aback by this sudden alliance against him. He found his Majesty's disconcertingly mismatched eyes had locked on him; he was watching expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

"Ah.. wha-… uh, w-what I was doing is…" he stammered, wishing the goblin king wouldn't look at him so attentively as he garbled out rubbish. He also wished the other goblins would stop signally frantically but cryptically behind the king's back, trying to help him with what he should say. It was even more distracting, and not at all hopeful. Jareth momentarily broke his gaze to shoot the other goblins a glance. They swiftly lowered their arms and tried to look casual. Hoggle breathed a sigh of relief. Then Jareth turned back to him, resuming his stare, and he tensed again. "I w-was just tryin' to spread some Christmas cheer. We never had a Christmas here, so we has no baubles of our own, an' they are real pretty and shiny, an' no one in the Aboveground wanted these ones anymore, so…" He rubbed his thieving hands together nervously, waiting for the denouncement he knew was coming…

"Y-yeah, the sight of them things cheered us up a lot," one of the bolder goblins broke in. The others nodded, somewhat reluctantly. Safety in numbers didn't really count here, they knew the king's cane was indiscriminant…

"We enjoys looking at 'em," added another goblin, somewhat emboldened by the lack of thwacking that had taken place as yet.

"Yeah, no one's missin' them, an' since we don't has a Chrissymas of our own-"

"Why are you dunderheads so concerned with Christmas?" The goblins recoiled slightly at Jareth's disdainful words. "You don't need a Christmas celebration. We have celebrations all the time. I give you feasts every other week. I keep you up to our eyeballs in gruel and greasy goop and as much grog as you can guzzle. Usually more. What need have we of Christmas?"

There was a long pause. The goblins shuffled their feet nervously. They knew what happened to people whom the goblin king thought were ungrateful…

"B-but… but these baubles sure is pretty-"

The instant he said it, the goblins on either side of the dimwitted goblin clamped their hands over his mouth. There was a sharp intake of breath all around. No one spoke back to the goblin king and came away without any sore parts…

"Indeed." The king was no longer looking at them. He held the bauble in his hand before his face, seeming to admire its lustre, rather as though it itself was one of his crystal balls. "It is quite pretty, for a bright pink, glittery ornament shaped like a turnip." He tossed the bauble; it bounced once on the dumb goblin's head before he caught it. That slight clonk on the head seemed to be all his punishment amounted to. "I'll tell you what," the king continued, "since you fellows are so fascinated by Christmas, I'll give you one. If you take an interest in human affairs, I'm not one to discourage you. After all, you job is to interact with human children. You have a right to experience human customs. So I'll give you a Christmas this year. No one can say I'm not generous. It'll be a proper Christmas, all the trimmings."

As soon as he finished speaking, the goblins erupted in delighted hoots, not all of it put on to placate his Majesty. Any reason to feast and drink was worthy of genuine celebration. Hoggle alone still felt some minor sense of uncertainty. Perhaps this was because he knew better than anyone else just how the king had felt about 'human affairs' of late. Jareth watched the rabble jabber and twitter amongst itself excitably, but his face didn't reflect their enthusiasm… the colours of the eyes, usually a sharp, burning blue, had become somewhat muted, and the little sideways twist of his mouth could only be described as slightly bitter, or perhaps… dejected. It was a look that Hoggle had seen a lot of recently, and somehow it was more frightening than outright anger, terrifying though that was.

Needless to say, Hoggle had a few misgivings swimming around in his usually self-obsessed, Goblish little mind as he watched the king turn on his heel and stride away towards the throne room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

As the clock in the nearby steeple struck the half-hour, Sarah meandered along the cold pavement, a roll of bright paper clasped in her arms. She was strolling back from the discount store, admiring the glittering crystals on the branches of the trees and browsing with interest at the shop windows she passed, their festive displays framed by a border of frost's tendrils upon the glass. She loved Christmas. She loved the colour, the excitement, the warmth and enjoyment; it was almost as though you could feel a certain magic in the air. Well, not real magic, of course. Another sort of magic. The kind of magic people weave around themselves without even realizing it. A magic woven from goodwill and companionship.

A store display caught her eye. This was different from any other in the street, far more than the usual paper chains and plastic nativity scenes surrounded by miscellaneous merchandise. A solid-looking silver candelabra was full of towering red candles; a selection of red glass ornaments stood upon a skein of black velvet. Beside them, atop a pile of thick leather-bound books, a genuine quill pen with a long white plume stood in a pewter inkwell, the curling letters on the parchment beside them reading 'Dear Santa Claus…"

Most of the items in the window looked like they could've come from an elven workshop. This was Christophe's Curiosities and Keepsakes, an antiques dealer and Sarah's favourite shop in the whole street for window shopping. Many were the times her mother had paused in the middle of a shopping trip to stand, transfixed, at the window, and she had often rushed inside, coming out again with some beautiful little artifact or another, boasting of the low price she had paid for it. Even if you never bought anything, the shop always had something interesting to look at in the window…

A gleam of gold beside the inkwell made Sarah stop to look longer than she usually would. _Oh, that would be perfect for-_

She craned her neck, trying to read the tiny price tag tied to its handle, but it had gotten turned face-down and she couldn't see… She procrastinated for a few moments, then plunged through the shop's door, a tinkling brass bell announcing her arrival with a shrill, but very musical little peal. She hovered on the threshold for a minute in uncertainty; she couldn't see anyone in here, though the sign on the door said 'open'. Then there was a soft 'harrumph' from the door behind the counter, and an old man emerged from the back room.

"I'm coming, sorry." He chuckled. "Ruddy sticky tape! You get it unstuck from one finger and it sticks to another. I had to bring the presents to work to wrap, or my grandkids would run in halfway through and spoil the surprise." He smiled kindly at Sarah. She smiled back. With his glimmering half-moon spectacles, leather apron and stooped gait, he looked like he could've been head-elf at Santa's workshop. "Now, what can I do for you, young lady?"

His words reminded her of the only other person she knew who called her 'lady'. "Umm, there was something in the window I was wondering about…"

"In the window, eh? Let's have a look, then." He ambled over.

She pointed it out, and he named a price 'specially for Christmas Eve'. She had a feeling he was grossly undercharging her; his price was certainly reasonable.

"Normally I wouldn't sell something like that to a young lady like yourself," he admitted. "You should really have an adult with you to be buying something like that."

"Eh, but that's… um, I…" She wasn't sure how to explain. She certainly wouldn't be able to explain to her father or Irene… buying a present for someone they'd never met, and there was no way she could explain to them who that person was… well, he wasn't even a person…

Mr. Christolphe smiled. "Ah, it's a present for someone, is it? Well, we wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. You seem like a responsible young lady." To Sarah's relief, he fished it – carefully - out of the window display and headed for the counter. "It's pretty blunt, but be careful with it anyway. I'll pack it safely in a box for you, just don't open it and play with it before you give it, and warn the person who's getting it before they open the box. Wouldn't want anyone getting hurt. You'll be careful, won't you?"

"Yes, I will," she promised.

"Tell you what; to make doubly sure it stays safe until tomorrow, I'll wrap it up for you. I have a spare bit of paper here… quite a few spare bits, actually… won't be a minute…"

While she waited, Sarah amused herself looking at the various knick-knacks; she could spend days looking at all there was to see in here. The counter was topped with a glass case full of smaller ornaments and jewelry that glimmered mysteriously in the dim light. There was a brooch with a large, bejeweled lizard on it… an opal as large as her fingernail that shimmered with rainbow fire… a pair of earrings with tiny ruby roses on them…

As soon as she saw them, she knew. They were very handsome, and totally unexpected… she couldn't have found something better suited than that if she had actually been looking for something… they were a perfect present for-

_No. We're not doing that. He doesn't deserve them. Even if they are perfect for him. I'm certainly not giving them to him._

She stared at the items. They stared back, as though willing her to buy them, and to give them… she could just imagine him with them-

_No. Didn't you just decide he wasn't getting anything? After all he did, all he tried to do to you, there's no way you can-_

"Here we are," Mr. Christolphe declared, returning from the back room with a package wrapped in paper printed with sprigs of holly. "Only three unnecessary bits of tape attached themselves to it. Anything else you need?" He watched Sarah watching the items in the glass case. She came back to herself with a start.

"Er, n-no, no thanks that's all, you've been a great help."

"You're most welcome. Merry Christmas to you and yours; I hope that person likes their present."

"Thanks." Carefully balancing her roll of paper whilst tucking the package under her jumper – she really didn't want to explain it to her parents – she felt a slight twinge of guilt as she turned and left, the bell on the door ringing with a finality behind her. She paused on the sidewalk. She kept picturing the things in her mind, how perfect they were for h-

_No. Don't bother. He certainly doesn't deserve it._

* * *

In the castle beyond the Goblin City, Christmas Dinner was in full swing.

Literally. Or at least, a pair of goblins were. And a keg of grog. There were swinging back and forth on the chandelier overhead, jabbering drunkenly – well, the goblins were anyway, not the keg – whilst the goblins below, being showered in grog, tried to catch some in their ready tankards. Others dispensed with the tankards altogether and just tipped their heads back, mouths open. The last remains of a huge supper were being cleaned up; grease was licked off fingertips, the last few crumbs were viciously fought over, left-over bones were used to pick teeth. The entire goblin court slumped in their seats in satisfaction. Although this had been one of many regular feasts, it certainly had been a satisfying one.

The goblin king lounged upon his throne. Most goblins assumed he was dozing. Well, the goblins who weren't already enjoying a post-dinner nap assumed as much. But he wasn't, though he rather wished he was. He was very awake, and he was thinking. He was thinking this:

_ Bored. Always bored. It never changes. All the feasts I throw, and nothing ever changes. Oh, they may change superficially from event to event. Once they heard about Halloween, they ran about with pumpkins on their heads all night. No point trying to tell them you're supposed to carve them up first; not that you're supposed to wear them in any case. That was a bit amusing. Probably because I wasn't the one who had to clean up the mess. Eye wounds are probably the messiest of any. Still, it was otherwise much the same. This one is much the same. I throw them a feast every other week. Doesn't matter the occasion; any excuse to break the monotony. Only it doesn't. They never get sick of feasts, but I certainly do. I give them more to break my own routine than to please them – they are so easily pleased. I wish I was. If only there was something else-_

The two goblins on the chandelier had started to sing loudly and nonsensically. Well, that was nothing new. And as always, it only succeeded in giving him a headache. Well, it was Christmas after all. He supposed he should really make an effort to get into the spirit of it…

He rose majestically to his feet with a regal swagger. The goblins gradually came to attention, nudging their neighbours awake, as they noticed that their king wanted an audience. When the goblins on the chandelier wouldn't stop bawling, there was a discreet pft! of a pea shooter, then two dull thumps. The singing came to an abrupt halt with a surprised shriek and a loud 'oof!' Satisfied, the king raised his own voice in a smooth baritone which, though the goblins knew next to nothing about the technicalities of good music, impressed them none the less.

_ "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas  
Just like the ones the humans know  
Where the treetops glisten,__  
And children listen  
To sleigh bells jingling in the snow"_

As he sang, he pulled a crystal orb from his sleeve. As the final note of his brief recital faded away, he hurled it across the room; it hurtled out the window. There was a pause, then something like an explosion muffled by pillows. Soft white down began to flutter past the glassless portals; it kept on falling. The goblins, enthralled by the first snow they'd ever seen, clamoured excitably like children themselves; those closest to the windows leaned out to try and touch a flake, and the rest of the room soon huddled behind them. After the first goblin was pushed and fell from the window ledge, the goblins at the back of the crowd realized it would be easier to reach it by going outside. Soon the entire room had emptied out. Excited shouts and squeals floated in through the windows as the white flakes continued to fly, clouds of them billowing in on the chill night air. They lent a bit of dazzling white brilliance to the drab greyness of the grimy, greasy, bone-strewn throne room.

Jareth watched the snow fall and smiled a little self-satisfied smile. The ivory flakes, glimmering in the light from the palace windows, seemed to be reflected in the cobalt-blue of his pupils, like shards of the cold night sky within his mismatched eyes. He sang softly to himself, almost in self pity, an edge of sarcasm spoiling the prettiness of his words:

_ "May your days be merry and bright,  
And may all your Christmases be white…"_

* * *

Feeling warm and contented, Sarah pushed her bedroom door open. Have to wrap the gifts for tomorrow, she thought to herself as her hand automatically found the light switch-

The feeling of content faded. The room was tidy except for the parcels she had bundled on her bed when she came home, in a hurry to get downstairs to help with dinner; and the books and belongs littered on the floor. They had fallen on the same spot she had just cleared that afternoon, just below that shelf…

She glanced at the fallen items as she picked them up. There were only two this time… her copy of 'The Nutcracker'… and that statuette…

She looked from one to the other. Her mind was whirling. She remembered the story of The Nutcracker well… it was about a young girl, and a doll coming to life on Christmas Eve…

She looked at the figurine suspiciously. It stared back impassively. Was it her imagination, or did its expression look a little different… almost defiant…?

No. It must be her imagination. Or too much brandy in the pudding Irene's aunt had sent them and they had had as dessert for Christmas Dinner. That was ridiculous. Statues didn't change their expressions, and they certainly didn't come to life… not even when they were a spitting image of their real-life counterparts…

She shook her head. Did its counterpart count as 'real life'? She glanced warily at her mirror. No, that was only to call her friends. And they usually appeared only when called. That was what had happened the last time he had appeared; she had accidentally called him. _Well, never again. Not by accident, or otherwise._

The shelf looked overcrowded; if she put them back there, they'd probably just fall again. She transferred them to her desk, then set about her nightly routine. She looked uneasily at the statuette as she got her pyjamas from the closet. Feeling foolishly self-conscious – really, the time of year was effecting her imagination, and she wasn't even a little kid any more! – she put it in a drawer and smugly banged it shut. It gave her a sense of satisfaction, but also a twinge of guilt, like when she had left the store that afternoon… and like that other time, when the crystal orb had shattered in her hand, and the walls had fallen in around them, a look of intense disappointment on his normally arrogant face…

She sighed tiredly. _That's done with. I won. It's over. It's the end of this year, and I'll never have to deal with him again. Focus on what matters now. Those presents have to be ready for tomorrow, and they won't wrap themselves. At least Mr. Christolphe did one of them for you. He's a really nice old man...  
_

She pushed the figurine – and him – from her mind, and set about her preparations for the following day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Agh duwah, abuuuhhh…"

CRASH!

"Huh… ah, TOBY!"

Sarah woke with a start to find Toby standing by her desk, the drawer upturned on the floor and its contents scattered all over the place.

"Oh my- Toby!" Irene had come running at the commotion. Babbling cheerily, Toby went to her and was lifted into her arms. "What on earth did he-?"

"He decided to pull out the drawer and pulled it too far," Sarah muttered, wearily rubbing her head and clambering out of bed.

"Oh, Toby!" Irene scolded. "He's lucky it didn't fall on him, he could've hurt himself! I'm so sorry, Sarah," Irene sounded genuinely apologetic; she used a much softer tone than her usual stern one. "He's been up for almost an hour already and he was so excited; I didn't see any harm in letting him come in to wake you up on Christmas morning… oh, what a mess you made, you naughty boy…" She frowned at her son. Toby tilted his head to one side and gurgled happily, completely oblivious.

Sarah poked through the tangle of items on the carpet. A pen leaked blue ink all over her fingers. She scowled and tossed it in the wastepaper basket. "He didn't mean to do it," she sighed. A few months ago she would've blown her top over less than this, but she was more tolerant now. Being still half-asleep probably helped. "It's not that bad. The drawer needed tidying anyway."

Irene breathed a sigh of relief. Her stepdaughter could be volatile; she had become better of late, but Irene personally wouldn't have blamed her for being upset in the circumstances. "I'm sorry, honey. It's not the best way to start Christmas Day." Sarah silently agreed. "Don't worry about it, I'll help you clean it up later; grab your dressing gown and come downstairs. We'll wait for you before we start opening presents."

"Ok, I'll be down in a sec."

Once Irene and Toby had gone, Sarah got down on her knees and rifled through the pile of stuff. She hoped it was alright-

Her fingers found molded plastic. She pulled the statuette from the pile. It looked to be still in one piece; despite her misgivings about it, she would be upset if it were broke-

It was then that she noticed that the miniature crystal was missing. She swiftly scanned the carpet, then ran her hands through the pile of junk, looking for a glassy sheen-

Something rolled and bounced off a wooden ruler, making a soft tnk! and catching the light as it went. Sarah snatched it up. The crystal was round and smooth in her hand. Somewhat remorsefully, she lifted it and the statuette onto her desk. It was her fault it'd been broken. If she hadn't been acting stupid the night before and shoved it in the drawer-

Her hand brushed a book on her desk. '_The Nutcracker_'. She had left it there the previous night. She remembered how the story started… the young girl's brother broke the nutcracker doll, and later that night, it came to life…

_Really, this is getting ridiculous!_ Sarah huffed at her own foolishness for even thinking such thoughts. It was just a coincidence. So what if she had a brother who broke her toys, loads of other girls had brothers who-

_ You haven't exactly had the same experience as most girls, though, have you? _She sighed again. Why did everything lately make her think of that time…?

_Whatever. _She looked gloomily at the mess on the floor. _That stuff doesn't matter now. It's Christmas, that's what's happening now. I should enjoy today, and worry about this stuff another time._

From the living room downstairs, she heard the sound of tearing paper, followed by Irene's admonishments. Hastily grabbing her dressing gown and collecting an armful of presents which she had carefully stowed out-of-sight on her wardrobe floor, she hurried downstairs, where the festivities were about to begin.

* * *

He found himself standing in the Escher wing of the castle, in a small, square room with high walls rising on either side. Strange, he thought, this room looks too small. The Escher wing covered an almost infinite space with its multiple physics-defying dimensions; no where in it was there a room this small. He glanced up at the steep walls. There were staircases on all of them, but, to his alarm, none of them reached to the floor, where he was. He strode to one of the walls and went to step up it…

Both he and the wall stayed where they were. With a growing sense of urgency, he ran his hand over it, as though he were searching for something; the wall stayed as it was, impassible. He was trapped within this room. As if the room had been waiting for him to discover this, the walls suddenly lurched, and began to move inward. He hastily backed away from the closest one, but they surrounded him on four sides, moving relentlessly towards him. He returned to the centre of the room, staring upwards, turning this way and that, looking for some means of escape. There must be some way… after all, this was his castle, his realm, it was suppose to conform to his will, he should be able to change any aspect of it on a mere whim…

Something white fluttered against one of the walls overhead, catching his attention. He could see a white-clad figure standing on a high ledge above. They were standing too far away for Jareth to make out their features, but they seemed to be watching him impassively… their white garments billowed around them, from the shape of the silhouette seeming to have a bell-shaped white skirt…

_ Her… it was her… she was watching him, watching him lose, doing nothing to help him… she stood by, watching the walls close in on him, knowing he was trapped… she must be gloating over him…_

He knew that his only means of escaping was to call out to her for help. The words seemed to stick in his throat, loosened by a growing feeling of panic, but still stifled by pride. The little good pride did him, helplessly flailing within the encroaching walls; he must look a fool in his eyes… Still, it was not a predicament he had put himself in, and he held no responsibility for it; he would not suffer the shame of giving in to her, he would not acknowledge it, could not accept it…

Though he told himself not to, his eyes were drawn upwards; she was still there, watching him, her figure standing in stark relief in the light from above, as the shadows seemed to approach him on either side. The ceiling was a white square above him, bordered by dark walls, the white of her dress just visible against it. Suddenly, the white square started to rapidly recede; he felt himself falling, as though the floor had just dropped from beneath him. Her distant figure dwindled swiftly, almost lost from sight… she was gone, he had stubbornly denied her and lost his last chance at salvation… pride was forgotten in despair, he raised his voice to call out her name-

* * *

He woke suddenly, sitting bolt upright in his throne, so suddenly that he almost toppled out of it. He unconsciously ran a hand over his face, feeling the sweat slide beneath his gloved fingers, breathing heavily. To his embarrassment, he realized his lips were still parted from when he had been about to cry out to her…

He glanced about blearily, fearing someone may have seen or heard-

The throne room was empty, save for the remnants of tattered paper and already-broken bits of the junk the goblins had considered to be 'presents' littering the throne room floor. He remembered now. The goblins had exchanged their paltry 'gifts'; not having had a Christmas before, they had been delighted by the mere novelty of receiving something, anything. These presents usually consisted of a broken weapon or tool one goblin gave to another, since it was useless and unwanted by the giver anyway; or perhaps some chipped and broken knick-knack salvaged from a trip to the Aboveground. The Underground bartering trade was flooded with such items, and the 'Junk Ladies', hunched under piles laden with, well, junk, had been doing a roaring trade in the lead up to the first Goblish Christmas. Bored by the fuss being made over worthless rubbish and his head starting to throb from the inane, excited chatter, he had made it snow again so the goblins would go outside and leave him in peace. He could hear a distant whoop and shriek as they staged a snowball fight somewhere beneath the castle walls, but otherwise the throne room was eerily quiet. And lonely. He often cursed the presence of the little nitwits constantly flitting at his heels and scurrying around the legs of his chair, but when they left him, their absence was certainly felt.

But that wasn't the only absence he felt. His mind flickered over the events of the dream… then he tossed them aside in defiance. It meant nothing, this dream. Melodramatic sentimentality, that was all it was. It was because of this damn holiday. Trust a human holiday to make his anguish felt. It was always the same. He ruled the kingdom as fairly as he could. He gave it all the time and effort it required, all the reserves of magic ability he possessed, and when his duties were finally over, he was left feeling listless, bristling with discontent. He gave and gave and gave to his little multitude of goblin subjects, but never received anything in return, save abject terror. And even that was only gratifying sometimes; it was starting to feel just a little bit old. He didn't know what he expected from that drabble. After all, they were a simple, unsophisticated lot, barely able to put together two spoons in their possession. Not without having stolen one or both of them from their neighbour. And they certainly wouldn't be clean. But once - just once! - it would be nice to have someone think of him without fear, without associating him with a swift kick or painful swipe of a cane…on this one day of the year, the season of giving, it would be nice to receive just one thing in return, however paltry… oh, he didn't want the wrench-with-a-twisted-shaft or plaster-cast-dog-with-a-chipped-nose that the goblins had given each other. He wanted even less than that. Just a genuine kind word, a little bit of thanks… after all he did here providing for them, governing them, moving the very stones of the earth and clouds in the sky when necessary… he could never expect them to repay him, but didn't he at least deserve something in return…?

"Y-your Majesty?"

He swiveled swiftly in his chair at the sound of the almost apologetic voice that spoke somewhere below his right ear. Hoggle was standing on the flags beside his throne, hands clasped respectively behind his back and a pensive expression upon his cragged features.

"What are you doing there, Heglet?" he asked in a stringent, almost defensive tone, donning his usual arrogance like armour. "I thought I told you feather-brains to go out in the snow I so generously provided as a Christmas present and to leave me in peace. Was that really too much to ask?" His tone implied that it hadn't been a question of obedience at all; he was quite used to having every command performed in total subjugation.

Hoggle fluttered nervously, looking rather like he wanted to turn and head for the door… then he drew something from behind his back and thrust it at Jareth with a nervous "H-here, your Majesty…"

Jareth stared. It was a package, wrapped in some indistinctly-hued scrap of cloth and tied with a barely-long-enough bit of red string. It was a tiny package, barely longer than his hand. But it was unmistakably a Christmas present.

"What is the meaning of this?" Jareth's voice had lost some of its commanding edge; he sounded doubtful. Hoggle, thinking he was offended, looked fearful. "I-it's the best I could do, Majesty. J-just a v-very small token of my thankfulness… I mean, after that whole thing… er, you know, how you warned me… well, uh, it's a gesture on my part, for not making me a prince of stench like you, uh, like you… well, um, there you go…"

Jareth listened to this spiel in amazement. When the package was proffered more insistently, he took it somewhat hesitantly. His ordeal hopefully through, Hoggle turned and walked away quickly as he could manage without making it too obvious.

"Er… thank you, Hoggle."

Hoggle stopped in his tracks. A huge grin spread across his face; then he swiftly remembered himself and scrambled out the door to safety.

_I suppose miracles do happen at Christmas… he didn't hurt me, curse me, or throw me in an oubliette… and he got me name right!!_

Jareth sat for a moment, just taking it in. A present. Someone had given him a present. He'd never had someone give him something – not purely by their own choice, not obeying any orders – in his entire life. He tugged away the wrapping. It was a small bottle of men's cologne. It was a cheap and nasty variety, the kind that people in the human world were disappointed to receive and never actually used. The bottle must've been dropped and rolled into the drains where Hoggle had found it on one of his jewelry salvages, Jareth figured; one side of the lid was dinted. It was hardly a desirable present, as far as actual possession went, but… it felt rather strange to receive it. He was almost… pleased with it. He looked at it in wonder. He hardly would've credited Hoggle… he had underestimated the little dwarf-goblin…

He sat in contemplation, not listening to the whoops of the goblins outside as the snow began to softly fall again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The paper tore beneath Toby's surprisingly strong, chubby baby fists. A teddy bear toppled out of the package. Toby squealed happily in recognition, hands outstretched; he clutched the bear and gurgled happily.

"Your bear, Sarah!" Irene exclaimed. "Are you sure you want to give it to him? After the mess he made in your room this morning…" Irene vividly remembered the scenes that used to occur when Toby had taken toys from Sarah's room… if anything were to happen to this bear, even after it left Sarah's possession…

"Yeah, I'm sure," Sarah smiled. "The drawer was an accident, he didn't know any better. I trust him to look after Lancelot. I'm getting too old for stuffed toys, and Toby will appreciate him more than me now." She watched Toby amble across the living room, Lancelot dangling by an ear from his fist. She was sure. It was rewarding to see her little brother enjoying her present so much.

"Sarah has really spoiled us this year," her father declared, stroking the silver pen, engraved with his name, that he had tucked into his jacket's breast pocket.

"She certainly has," Irene agreed, likewise touching the gold brooch shaped like a Celtic knot pinned to her blouse.

"Oh, but I got some great presents in returned," Sarah grinned.

And it was true. Irene had given her a very pretty knitted vest; she had already resolved to wear it that very day. There was a pile of wonderful books; she had been delighted and surprised to find that they were all ones she had secretly wanted. She remembered now, that when her father had taken her for a trip to the mall, she had told him over hot chocolate about the books she had seen at the bookstore; he must have remembered the titles and authors she had mentioned and gone back to buy them for her. There was even a piece of paper covered in red and green crayon scrawls, with Irene's neat, precise writing in one corner, reading: _'Merry Christmas Sarah, love from Toby'_. Toby had handed it to her himself, and she had praised him lavishly for his handiwork.

She had saved the best for last. Two packages stood on their own, wrapped in delicate mauve tissue paper. Beside them was a thick envelope. Sarah opened it first. A letter several pages long was folded inside. She smiled fondly as she read. It was full of funny stories and theatre news.

It was from her mother and Jeremy.

Both were very apologetic that they couldn't spend Christmas with her, but they promised that they would telephone on Boxing Day, and that next year would be different. Sarah replaced the letter in the envelope, smoothing it affectionately, and turned her attention to the two presents. The first was from her mother – it was a beautiful blouse made with a filmy, gossamer material, like it was made from faeries' wings. She wished the weather weren't so cold, or she would have worn it straight away! There was also a little journal with an Escher print on the cover of fish gradually turning into birds as they rose; and a pen with a long feather at the end, rather like the quill pen she had seen in Christolphe's shop.

Inside Jeremy's package were two more packages, one hard and heavy, one tiny. She opened the smaller one first. It was a pretty silver chain, plain but with delicate oval links, very grown-up-looking. Irene obligingly fastened it around her neck for her. Grinning ecstatically, she opened the last present. Under the paper was a box, and inside the box, carefully cushioned by more tissue paper, was…

She stared at it. Carefully, almost tentatively, she pulled it from the box and set it down on its ornate silver stand.

It was a glass orb. Inside it, snowy flakes fluttered ethereally, going every which way, drifting in a liquid suspension. At the orb's centre stood a couple dressed in winter finery, capes trimmed with luxurious fur swirling around them as they cavorted in the snow. The man supported the woman's arm with his own, conducting her along in the manner of the chivalrous gentlemen of bygone times. He looked adoringly down at her, and she smiled up at him with an equally loving expression…

Sarah's vision of their happy faces blurred, and hot tears started to stream down her face.

"Sarah…? Sarah honey, whatever is the matter?" In a second she could feel her father's strong arms closing around her; on her other side, Irene soothingly patted her shoulder. She sniffed embarrassedly through her tears, trying in vain to stop, but they just kept on coming of their own accord.

"I don't know," she sobbed. "I-I just suddenly teared up for no reason…"

"You miss your mom and Jeremy, don't you?" Irene murmured understandingly. "It's hard to be away from people you love, especially Christmas."

"Y-yeah, I guess that's it," Sarah said haltingly. "I j-just opened Jeremy's present…"

"It's lovely." Irene carefully moved it to a ledge up off the floor where mischievous toddlers couldn't get at it.

"I'm sorry you couldn't be with your mother this Christmas, Sarah," her father said, giving her shoulders a comforting squeeze. "But she'll ring tomorrow, you can at least talk to her, and we'll do our best to cheer you up in the meantime. Come on now, dry your eyes, we'll have a nice Christmas together this year, and you can see her and Jeremy as soon as their company finishes touring."

"I-I know, I'm being silly… I don't know w-why…" She dabbed at her eyes with the tissue Irene handed her.

"It's alright, Sarah, no need to apologize." Irene patted her hair.

"Hmmm… Toby?" Wiping her eyes, Sarah realized Toby was standing in front of her, looking uncertain and offering her Lancelot. "Oh, Toby, I gave him to you! You don't have to give him back!" She pulled the toddler up into her arms and bounced him gently up and down, making him giggle delightedly.

"He's worried about you," Irene smiled, ruffling her son's hair.

"He doesn't need to be! Oh, I created such a fuss over nothing! I'll be right back, I'll just go and clean up a bit."

"Ok honey, go and get dressed, and we'll have breakfast soon. Freshening up sounds like a good idea; I think someone needs a change." Irene lifted Toby and headed out of the room with him.

"Are you sure you're alright, Sarah?" her father asked concernedly.

"Uh-huh. Yeah, sorry about all that. I'll go shower and change." Exasperated with herself, Sarah collected her things and retreated hurriedly to her room.

She sighed heavily, stepping around the mess of things on the floor to deposit her presents on the desk. She set the snow globe down carefully. There was a little key at its base; almost warily, she turned it a few times. The couple in the centre of the sphere began to slowly turn, dancing amid the swirling snow, whilst a tinkling little tune played. She recognized it as the same one her jewel box - another gift from Jeremy - played… _the same tune she had heard in the ballroom, as she had danced, and heard him softly singing to her-_

New tears spilled their banks; she wiped them ashamedly on the sleeve of her dressing gown. She was being such a sook. She had no reason to cry; it had been a great Christmas Day so far, she had gotten some great presents, and her family had all liked theirs. Of course she missed her mother and Jeremy, especially on Christmas Day, but this was nothing new, they went away all the time because of their work, they had been away at Christmas before… so why… _why…_

The snow globe played its last few notes and the dancing couple came to a jerky stand-still, finishing facing her. She sadly admired them. They reminded her of her mother and Jeremy, she supposed. She had seen them in that same pose, standing on stage to take a bow, or perhaps entering a theatre for a premiere, her mother looking beautiful in a flowing gown, smiling brightly, whilst Jeremy, in a dapper suit, led her gallantly with her hand resting on the crook of his arm. The figures in the snow globe reminded her of them, for sure, but it didn't make her miss them any more than she usually did… it was something else…

She looked at the collection of gifts, particularly the ones from her mother and Jeremy. Birds printed on the cover of the diary. A snowy white plume, like a great white feather… and a dancing couple…

The statuette seemed to regard these new items with an air of disdain. Sarah looked from it to the snow globe, feeling something pull in her chest, a big well of disappointment there that she had tried to contain, but which was now overflowing in tears…

_Him_. The globe reminded her of _him_. And of a story she used to read all the time, a story she had loved, and had used to wish she could be in… sometimes she had felt like it really had been her story…

_ "Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, there lived  
a beautiful princess. Life wasn't easy for the young  
princess, for her wicked stepmother worked her like a  
slave. But what no one knew was that the King of the  
Goblins had fallen in love with the princess and had  
given her special powers…"_

That was how it should've gone. That's what she had wanted the story to be: a great romance, a mysterious suitor with mystic powers who could make her whole life better…

She supposed it had been her own fault really. He had given her powers and decided to serve her, perhaps; but she had been the one who had asked him to do what he did… oh she hadn't been serious, she had been annoyed at Toby, just trying to scare him and make herself feel better. She remembered the awful moment when she realized what she had done, how she had begged him to undo it, and his horrible, cold and uncaring response:

_"What's said is said."_

What's said is said, and what's done is done, she thought to herself. I wanted a romance; I didn't get it. There's no changing what really happened, I can't rewrite it or pretend it happened differently like a make-believe story in a book. It really was dangers untold… it was terrible… it wasn't the fairytale I wished for at all…

_What's done is done. It's over. I won. He won't bother me again. So why can't I forget him? Why did I… suddenly start crying…?_

She looked at the figure of the woman in the crystal orb, with her smiling face and with her gentleman doting on her. She thought of her mother and Jeremy, how romantic he was with her, how suave and charming and kind he was… and she felt inexplicably jealous. She felt incredibly sorry for herself, and overwhelmingly disappointed in him. Why couldn't it have been like that? I didn't ask for what happened to happen… all I wished for was a romance of my own… so why did it go so horribly wrong?

Her illusions were shattered. She had tried to accept it as just the way things had turned out… she had dismissed her former hopes as just childish dreams… but she still wondered… it still hurt her to not have found it… she still wondered, was there a love out there like the one she had wished for… _a storybook love…?_

* * *

He lifted his head from where he had been sitting with it bowed, brooding to himself. He started in his chair, sitting up at attention. He had heard it. It was faint, indistinct; little more than a moan on the wind. Something that could easily be put down to imagination. To wishful thinking. But he had heard it, he was certain… it _must've _been…

And then, to confirm it, a tinkling little tune began to play out of nowhere. It was a tune he recognized, a tune he knew well… he had heard it play as he watched, an unseen guardian outside her window… the melody had haunted his dreams, the notes woven into hopes which had since been dashed… it was _their song_…

The goblins creeping about the throne room, sneaking furtive glances and, occasionally, even more furtive hands into neglected piles of 'presents' left littered on the floor, payed it no heed, not hearing it at all. It was playing just for him. Hesitantly, wondering if he should – he hadn't allowed himself to do it in weeks, though several times he had nearly weakened, the constant wondering wearing him down – he lifted his hand, a glass sphere instantly appearing there, and, taking a deep breath, as though he couldn't do it with his usual ease, he called an image into being within its depths.

His breath caught in his chest despite himself. No matter what had transpired all those months ago, his feelings hadn't changed. She was so beautiful, so radiant with youth and innocent grace. He wasn't sure what he had expected; a cruel, taunting smile, a smug peal of laughter, a mocking glint in her eye… but instead… instead there were… _tears_…

Something that he thought had irreparably hardened suddenly softened within him, like a layer of frost melting on a glass pane… he remembered days past, days spent watching, watching as tears coursed down her cheek, as she bent her pretty head in despair, as sobs raked her slender frame… he had heard the words uttered desperately, offered up in the vain hope that some sympathetic ear nearby may hear, not knowing that he was indeed there, so close to her, and he heard her as she cried:

_ "It's not fair!"_

But why? Why was she crying now? Why had he heard these tears, and that tune? She should've been happy; the humans were currently occupied with their foolish, nonsensical fetes and festivities, swapping trite tokens of greedful possession with each other in the name of 'holiday spirit'… she had won, she had come away triumphant, and she should be triumphant… she was the happy one, it was he who was miserable, his gift to her rejected, and he himself… she had won, she had all she wanted… _so why was she…?_

He watched as she awkwardly wiped a tear away with a slim hand, riveted by the sight of her fingertips brushing her flawless, tear-glazed cheek. His resolve was fractured. He deliberated. He had decided then that she was now beyond him, he had relinquished all attachment to her… but her sorrow, it called to him… what would he do…?

One more look at her pale, tear-streaked face and tragic hazel eyes was enough for him. He dismissed the orb with a wave of his hand. Without a word, he swept to his feet and strode from the room. The goblins he met bowed respectively and scurried out of his way; a few that were worse for wear from grog managed to blink at his passing as they slouched in a liquor-induced haze among the corridors. Somewhere in the vast halls, he could hear uncouth, raucous little voices singing, and the soft _thwump!_ of snowballs hitting their marks outside, followed by wild laughs of abandon. But he ignored all this. All that played across his senses as he strode purposefully along were _that tinkling little tune, and the vision of her in tears…_

He came to a corridor that ended abruptly in a large window, a small flight of stairs leading up to the ledge. He mounted them and, without hesitation, stepped out into empty space, the snow flurries parting before him like curtains. All at once, the edges of his garments fluttered in the breeze, his long, trailing sleeves whipping out alongside him like wings.

The owl soared upwards into the grey sky. As it dwindled into the distance, the falling snow slowed, then came to a stop.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

As Sarah approached her bedroom door, she heard furtive voices coming from within. She cautiously opened it a crack and stood outside, listening.

"Are you sure this is the time she said?" a gravelly little voice asked sceptically. "If she's not here soon, there are other things I could be do-"

"Milady requested that we await her pleasure at precisely this hour," another voice pointed out in righteous tones. "I am prepared to stand here like the stone itself, and neither rain nor hail nor strong winds shall move me."

"Brother like friends?" a slow, deep rumble asked uncertainly.

"That's right, brother Ludo. I shall be as the very stones themselves."

"I don't think she's coming," the first voice declared. "She must have better things to do than-"

"Sarah said wait!" the deep growl warned insistently.

Sarah grinned and pushed open the door. They hadn't changed at all! "Yes, I told you to wait, I'm sorry if it was for too long, we played cards after lunch and I lost track of time! Merry Christmas!" She stepped in front of the mirror over her dressing table. Instead of her reflection, three very different figures looked back at her, as though they were standing on the other side of a window.

"Our sincerest seasonal wishes, Milady!" Sir Didymus replied, doffing his cap in a flourish that made the snow that had been atop it flutter every which way.

"Sarah have good Christmas!" Ludo said, his wide mouth stretching in a grin that could be mistaken for a snarl by those who didn't know better. Sarah smiled back. She knew Ludo better – he was a gentle giant.

"Y-yeah, Merry Christmas," Hoggle mumbled, looking sheepish, as though he really wanted to be cheerful, but felt some unexplained obligation to remain gruff. He'd gotten better, Sarah reflected. She supposed she had been the same once, putting on a fuss or a sulk for the sake of it. She had since learnt, and Hoggle was learning. Being a goblin, she supposed, made it more difficult. Goblins seemed to have stubborn natures… particularly certain ones-

"Does it snow in the Underground?" she asked, looking at the swathes of white flakes that lay in the folds of their clothes, or in Ludo's case, clung to his fur.

"It does as of this year, Milady!" Sir Didymus informed her. "You have come at a fortunate time, to witness a monumentous occasion! This year marked the first snow-fall the Labyrinth has ever seen. We ourselves had the good fortune to witness the first ice hockey tournament being performed by the illustrious Firey clan upon the frozen Pond of Eternal Fragrance."

"T'was alright til they decided our heads would make better pucks than theirs," Hoggle muttered.

"Head sore!" Ludo told her, rubbing his own shaggy one, which with its two protruding horns was hardly puck-shaped.

"They were a bit overzealous to include us in proceedings," Sir Didymus allowed.

"So you had snow for the first time this year, huh?" Sarah asked, leaning against her dressing table as if she were having the most normal chat in the world. "Was it particularly cold there this year?"

"Not at all," Sir Didymus explained, "The air temperature was much the same as it is all year round. The snow fall was a most generous presentation to us undeserving citizens from our illustrious monarch, Lord Jareth."

There was a disconcerted pause after those words.

"He made it snow?" she asked haltingly. Every year, part of the expectation surrounding Christmas – in the human world at least - was wondering whether it would snow or not… she thought that making the snow fall should be a feat that was beyond even him… but he could even control that...?

"Oh, are those ours?" Hoggle asked, eyeing the brightly wrapped parcels Sarah had laid out ready on the tabletop. "Haven't forgotten to give 'em to us, have you?"

His words could most certainly be considered rude, but Sarah didn't seem to notice. "Oh, yes, here, sure, these are yours. I hope you like them!" She pushed the parcels through the mirror as though there were no glass there at all; their outstretched hands met no resistance as they took them from her.

"Sarah, yours!" Ludo said, offering a large hand to her as he took his present with the other. Sitting in his palm were three dumpy packages wrapped in scraps of paper and tied with string.

"Oh, you didn't have to!" she said in surprise. "I wasn't sure if you guys celebrated Christmas there, so I wasn't expecting-"

"Usually we would be shamefully ignorant of this momentous occasion, but this year our kingdom has become very much embroiled in the festive spirit." Sir Didymus was already levering the tape off his package with the tip of his lance. "We resolved to present the fair Lady Sarah with some form of reciprocation, paltry though our humble tokens of friendship may be. We hope you shall find them acceptable." He bowed; when he raised his head again, a piece of sticky tape was stuck to the tip of his nose.

"Of course I do! Thank you!" She gave them each a grateful glance and patted Ludo's furry hand as she took the presents from him.

"I say, this is most appreciated!" Sir Didymus declared, looking delightedly at the object in his unwrapped box. "I give your Ladyship my most humble gratitude! I had need of a new dirk to wear in my belt, my old one became chipped one day whilst I was practicing my swordsmanship. This is a most superb replacement!" He admiringly held up the letter opener Sarah had bought at Christolphe's. It was cheap, not even gold-plated, just made from some goldish-coloured metal, but he handled it reverently, as though it were a sacred relic.

"It's not very sharp," Sarah pointed out, knowing Sir Didymus' lance, though not having any blades, nevertheless certainly wasn't a toy…

"Quite so! It is my utmost principle of chivalry not to take life unnecessarily! This fortuitous piece of equipment shall aid me in upholding my code of conduct! It is most suitable for the frequent skirmishes and repartees which I encounter in my knightly duties." He tucked it into his belt, looking very happy with its addition there. Sarah smiled proudly. She had known as soon as she had seen it in the window that it would be perfect…

"Wow! Did you do this, Sir Didymus?" Sarah asked, looking in genuine surprise and delight at the little wooden figurine she had just unwrapped. It was a perfect model of an Old English Sheepdog.

"Yes, Milady," Sir Didymus said, trying to look modest. "It is clumsily carved by my own hands, in the hope of being able to present you with a somewhat satisfactory token of my respect and admiration-"

"How adorable!" Sarah crooned over it. "It looks just like my dog Merlin, and like Ambrosius! How is Ambrosius?" she asked, realizing that his shaggy shape wasn't by Sir Didymus' side.

"The greedy lummox overate at our midday meal and is still sleeping off the after-effects," Sir Didymus said with a disdainful shake of his head. "I am most certain he shall appreciate these delicacies you have prepared for him, though I shall have to make sure he doesn't gorge himself to excess, scrumptious though they surely are." He held up a small bag tied with a festive ribbon, in which there was a batch of homemade dog biscuits Sarah had made. She had baked some for Merlin, and while she'd been at it she had done a few extra for Ambrosius. She had a feeling that though Ambrosius was from the Goblin realm, he would enjoy the treats as much as her own human-realm dog had enjoyed his.

"Sarah!" Ludo exclaimed excitedly, "Sarah… give Ludo friend?"

"That's right, Ludo," Sarah replied with a grin as the goofy yeti-goblin peered down at her hopefully. "It's a new friend for you, Ludo."

Sarah's present was dwarfed in Ludo's huge hands. It was a stone, a rather small one (she had bought the biggest one they had had) that had been painted with a smiling face. It was just a small novelty item she had found at a local market, but she had remembered Ludo and his 'friends' as soon as she had seen it. Ludo seemed fascinated by it.

"New friend… smile?" he asked with childish delight.

"That's right, Ludo," she said, smothering laughter at the earnestness of his question. "Your new friend is smiling at you!"

Ludo smiled right back at it, then beamed at Sarah. "Sarah!... Sarah friend! Friend give Ludo friend!"

"I'm glad you like it," Sarah replied, "and I really like this, Ludo! It's very nice!" In truth, she wasn't too sure what it was. It was a curious, indistinctly-shaped object, fuzzy and suspiciously orange. She rather suspected it was a piece of Ludo's fur that he had tried to somehow weave or plait. Nevertheless, it was very soft and silky between her fingers. "You made it yourself, didn't you?"

Ludo looked bashful, quite a mean feat for a seven-foot-high, horned beast. He giggled like a seven-year-old schoolboy.

"And do you like yours, Hoggle?" she asked the dwarf-goblin, who certainly seemed to be enjoying his gift; it was little more than a cheap jewellery box full of discount Christmas decorations, but Hoggle had his head under the lid and was gloating over it as though it were a chest out of Aladdin's cave.

"Yeah!" he murmured in an awed voice without looking up, completely engrossed in the sparkling tinsel and gleaming, rhinestone-covered baubles. "They're lovely…"

Sarah thought it was perhaps not the right adjective to describe a dozen plastic bubbles in various rainbow-bright hues and some tacky glitter-covered ornaments, but he seemed happy enough with them, and that was what mattered. He seemed to have quite a thing for plastic…

"Hey Hoggle, are these…?" Sarah stared at the jewellery she had just unwrapped from her last present. One was a bracelet made of plastic beads, one a cheap gold-coloured ring with a tiny plastic jewel in it…

"Yeah, I thought since I already knew you liked that bracelet, I'd give it back to you as a present. And I managed to bargain with that foolish old man and his stingy pet bird for the ring, they had no right to it anyway, they ripped you off when you gave it to them, their advice was worthless anyway. It took a few coins and several seed-cakes before they agreed to hand it over, but a grit-muffin sealed the deal. Since they was yours to begin with, I added an extra one… too many flowers on that one for my treasury…"

"It's really pretty!" She meant it too. It was red and made of beads shaped like rosebuds, looking like an iridescent flower garland on her wrist. "Thank you, Hoggle, I love it!"

Hoggle grunted in reply and lowered his head again. It was hard to tell if the glow around his face was the light reflecting off his treasure trove, or a blush suffusing his weathered cheeks.

Suddenly there came a baying and yipping from somewhere. It took Sarah a moment to realize it wasn't Merlin out on the verandah; it seemed to be coming from beyond the mirror's frame. Sir Didymus looked over his shoulder.

"Ambrosius, have you recovered? Gluttony is a flaw to be found only among the weak-willed. I know it's a celebratory occasion, but all the same a knight should keep himse- be careful, Ambrosius! The bog is frozen, but it's slippery! Watch your footing!" He bounded outside the range of the mirror's frame to assist his 'steed'.

"Ludo help brother." Ludo lurched to his feet and lumbered after Sir Didymus

"Be careful, Sir Ludo," she heard Sir Didymus say, "You might crack the very ice with the firmness of your tread."

"So, Hoggle," she asked, turning to him whilst the others scuffled on the ice somewhere outside her view, "did you have a good Christmas? Did you spend it at the, um, castle?"

"Hmm?" Hoggle looked up from where his gaze had been riveted on his new treasures. "Yeah, part of it. I came down here with Didymus and the yeti for a while, - the only time you can come here, really, at least with the bog frozen it doesn't smell. He should leave it like this all year round, if he has a heart; usually it's unbearable. But yeah, I went and had a look-in at the banquet up at the castle. Gwymlim who lives by the twenty-sixth outer gate had a stash of kegs, he's saving a few of 'em for tonight…"

"Er, was it a good banquet?"

"Eh, as far as banquets go, it was similar to most. We have 'em all the time here. The only difference was this time a lot o' the cooked items had stuffing in 'em, and there was presents the goblins got for each other from the junk ladies – nothing like this, mind, mostly dull, grimy bits o' broken stuff – but there was snow, which was pretty different I guess."

"And, uh, h-he made it snow?"

"Well, yeah. The weather here doesn't change that much, it's kinda brown and bleak all the time, so it's pretty nice for a change, actually… it makes your eyes smart if you stare at it for too long and it's kinda wet, but it sure brightens the place up… the trees go all glisteny…"

"And, uh, how is he?"

Hoggle looked at her curiously. She hadn't asked about him since that time…

"The same as usual I suppose. He's been moping around the place as always, lookin' like he's about to kick someone. He seemed to get right into the spirit of the season though, with the presents and carols and snow and all… he seemed a bit surprised when I gave him a small present, didn't want him to suddenly decide to dunk me in the Bog of Eternal Stench, after… er, you know… but otherwise, he's been his usual gloomy self."

"Why is he so gloomy?" Sarah asked, momentarily forgetting to be hesitant. "He's the king, isn't he? Shouldn't he be getting more presents than anyone else?"

"Nope. I'm pretty sure the only present he got was the one I gave him. I'm sure he doesn't mind it, though. I mean, he knows magic; he can magic himself whatever he wants. If I could do that, I'd be smiling all the time. If the goblins tried to give him stuff, he'd just rant at us that it wasn't any good. Who knows what he really wants; it'd be nothing we could get him anyway. Are you feeling ok? Your face has gone bright red. Has the cold weather over there made you get sick?"

"N-no, I feel fine," Sarah assured him hurriedly, drawing a nervous hand across her cheek, which was almost as crimson as the bracelet on her wrist.

Just then, there were the sounds of claws scurrying on a hard surface and feet crunching on newly-laid snow. Sir Didymus and Ludo reappeared with Ambrosius with them. All three of them were crunching happily.

"There we are! One must be fleet of foot to navigate this wintry wonderland!" Sir Didymus beckoned the sheepdog forward. "Ambrosius, be gracious enough to thank the Lady Sarah for these delicious morsels!"

"Cookies good!" Ludo agreed.

As Sarah turned towards them, she didn't notice Hoggle's gaze slide past her to the bedroom behind her; he seemed to spy something sitting on the desk that interested and surprised him... something that he recognized...

* * *

Later, after her friends had gone, Sarah sat at her desk, her chin resting on her hands. Her head was almost at desktop-height; when she looked at the snow globe, she could see the goblin figurine through it, as though he also stood in the cloud of snowflakes, his outstretched hand – still empty since the crystal had broken off – seeming to beckon the flakes into existence. Sarah looked at it distractedly and sighed, feeling perplexed.

_ So he only got one present… even though he has a rotten personality, that's pretty harsh. I mean, he is the king. He's pretty horrid to them – just look how he was to Hoggle! – but he looks after them, I suppose. And he gave them Christmas this year. And they didn't give him anything back… it… it doesn't really seem fair somehow…_

With another twinge of guilt as she thought of the items she had seen at Christolphe's store. _I suppose,_ she thought, _if he didn't know they were from me – I mean, he probably doesn't want anything to do with me after all that – I wouldn't mind if he had them. They really would suit him. And I suppose even he deserves to have something at Christmas. Perhaps when the shops reopen, if they're still there…_

She sat musing at the desk. Outside, real snowflakes began to softly fall. She didn't notice a flurry of white on white outside her bedroom window, moving in the wrong direction; a white bird rose from a frost-hung branch and fluttered away into the approaching nighttime.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Robert and Irene were fast asleep side-by-side on the couch, wrapped snuggly in a wool blanket. The fire in the grate before them was a mere languid flicker, illuminating the room in a rosy glow. Sarah, in her pyjamas and slippers, padded through this tranquil scene to reach the diminutive figure that was huddled on the cushion of an armchair, curled up rather like a sleeping puppy. Toby had his favourite blanket clutched in one hand and one of Lancelot's paws in the other, the bear's soft body cushioning his head. He had barely put the toy down all day.

Sarah smiled and shook her head. She had been reading one of her new books and looked up to find it well after nine o'clock and the house completely still. She didn't have the heart to disturb Irene and her dad, they looked so peaceful; but it was way past Toby's bed time and he couldn't stay here all night, he might wander around the house and get up to all kinds of mischief. She bent down and carefully lifted him up off the chair. He lolled in her arms like a rag doll, still fast asleep. She tiptoed back the way she'd come, heading for the stairs with him, trying to carry him as smoothly as she could so she wouldn't wake him. He roused when the door to her parents' room squeaked open.

"Uhn ngh … Sa, uwah Sa…" he muttered sleepily, even more unintelligible than usual. Sarah knew something of Toby's private language; 'Sa' was as far as he'd gotten at learning her name. He couldn't quite handle the 'rah' on the end yet.

"Time for bed, Toby," she told him. "Into the cot you go." She lowered him in and covered him with the blanket. To her chagrin, he wriggled and gurgled happily, now wide awake. Trust him to wake up now that he was supposed to go to sleep!

"Sa! Fwah jabig huwah kwah abluh…" he chatted happily at her.

"Time to sleep, Toby," she warned him. "Santa may still be watching, so you'd better be a good boy and go to sleep now."

"San-a?" Toby repeated. He'd been taken to see Santa at the shopping mall a few weeks ago; the commemorative photo was in a frame on the mantelpiece downstairs. "San-a bwah pres, San-a pres abuh," he said with what seemed to be actual comprehension. He knew that Santa brought a present, or 'pres' as he put it, to good boys and girls.

"That's right. Santa brought you some nice presents, but he may still be watching, Toby. You'd better show him what a good boy you are by going to sleep quickly."

To her relief, it seemed to work. Either by persuasion, suggestion, or pure chance, Toby seemed to have remembered how tired he was. "San-a," he managed again, but yawning widely as he said it. "San-a, San-a pres. Twah pres fwo Sa. Pres fwo Sa, pres luh vwuh Jaweh fwah…"

Sarah tucked the blanket in around Toby's sides, made sure Lancelot was close beside him, and crept out of the room. She wondered to herself as she headed next door to her own room. If she hadn't known better, she'd have thought Toby was almost speaking actual words just then; that last word had sounded suspiciously like…

_If you think that, you're definitely too tired to think straight,_ Sarah admonished herself as she flipped on the light switch and softly closed the door behind her.

* * *

Back in the dimly-lit bedroom, Toby was just drifting off to sleep. After a few minutes, the light switch in the room next door clicked off. There was a subtle creak of floor boards and a rustling of quilts and pillows; then the house was quiet, except for the rhythmic tick-tick of the clock out in the hall. Outside, the breeze dropped and the snow gradually slowed to a stop, the white-covered trees nothing more than a ghostly glimmer out in the darkness beyond the window panes. It was so still, it almost looked like a stage set; almost unreal.

_F-f-wip…_

The French doors gradually gave, then almost soundlessly swung inwards with an eerily slow movement, though the wind outside had stilled and the curtains little more than quavered as a gust of night air slipped in. There was a muffled fwap-fwap, like something flapping about in the still air, then a gentle thud as something landed on the carpet just inside the door. Soon after, there was a tiny _squik!_ as a gloved hand fastened on the door knob, pushing it securely closed again. A pair of feet with a stealthy tread approached the cot, a menacing silhouette thrown on the wall above it by a nearby streetlamp. The figure paused beside the crib, then reached out a black-clad hand. The soft leather was soothing as it brushed lightly against Toby's chubby baby cheek. He opened his eyes and looked up at the person who stood over him with recognition in his eyes.

"Uwah Jaweh, luh vwah Sa, Jaweh pres," he said with a serious expression on his face. Jareth smiled; it was a smile without its usual smugness or sarcasm. There was a hint of affection in his voice as he answered Toby's statement, stroking his hair like one would stroke the fur of a pet.

"Smart little chap. I knew you had potential as soon as I saw you. But who would've guessed that you'd be the one to actually call me in here? Thank you for the invitation. It was quite brisk outside."

"Jaweh pres fwuh Sa," Toby said, more insistently.

"Yes, yes. You've wished it thrice now, I heard it the first time; just because I wasn't in the room doesn't mean I couldn't hear you loud and clear. Anxious little thing, aren't you? What a considerate child you are. It's a shame things turned out the way they did; I have the feeling you and I would've gotten along quite well. We certainly seem to have a few things in common."

"Klewag fleh abuh hwuh?"

"Oh, you remember him from last time? Kelvin is doing well. I think he rather enjoyed conversing with you last time you visited us. At least you two spoke the same language. It's about time we found someone who could understand poor Kelvin."

"Nawah ugh dwegh Klewag!"

"Oh, is that his name? My mistake. I have a kingdom full of goblins and they all look much the same from my vantage point. I can't be expected to remember all their names! Again, it's a shame; you made quite a few friends in our realm. You would've gotten along just fine if you'd stay. But that's neither here nor there. Enough chit-chat. Now that I've been to see you and you've made your wish, I have my work cut out for me, don't I? This isn't the sort of wish I typically fulfill. But I will do my best. You sleep tight, and I'll take care of it."

"G'wih, Jaweh…"

"Same to you, little fellow."

With a last gentle pat on the head, Jareth turned from the crib and faced the wall. He knew from his time spent watching through the windows that on the other side of this wall was _her _room…

He raised a hand towards the wall. Almost instantly, as though obeying some command, the white paint seeped away to reveal an image. It was like watching frost on a window pane swiftly melting away to reveal what was beyond the window beneath it; what appeared on the other side of the wall was not Sarah's bedroom, or even an interior room. It was a forest, stately pine trees dusted with white pointing their spires into a white-flecked night sky. Jareth calmly lowered his hands and walked towards this scene, as though he encountered this sort of thing all the time and it bothered him no more than having to open a door. A snowflake melted against his cheek and his boots crunched on the fresh-fallen snow as he strode purposefully out into the wilderness.

Through the bars of his cot, Toby watched the goblin king enter the wood, the wall returning to its normal white-painted veneer behind him. "Jaweh pres fwo Sa," Toby mumbled again sleepily to himself. Then he rolled over and fell soundly asleep, one of his hands securely clutching Lancelot's ear.

* * *

Sarah ran. She didn't know where she was going or what she was trying to reach, but she hurried through the snow with a sense of urgency she couldn't explain or even rationalize to herself. She knew she should stop and think; she was plunging headlong into the forest with no particular direction in mind. Pine needles caught in the knit of her new vest and scraped the denim of her jeans as she wove laboriously between them. It seemed every time she rounded one of them, another one popped up out of the ground in front of her to block her path. It wasn't really a maze, it wasn't as organized as that; they just grew higgledy-piggledy all over the place, and were therefore almost impossible to navigate through. A snow-flurry enveloped her, icy fingers stinging her cheek; she whirled, startled, and realized that an impenetrable stand of trees had sprung up behind her, blocking the way she had just come. She felt a familiar fear and frustration start to burn at the back of her mind. So that was how it was, just like the last time… _another labyrinth…_

She stopped now, uncertain. It seemed like this place just went on forever and ever with no variation; just more trees, appearing out of nowhere to impede her progress and swallowing the path behind her. She felt panic flare up within her. Last time she had needed some friendly advice to help her make it through; well, there were no friends here, no _anyone_. All there was were the snow, the night sky, and the endless forest…

Suddenly, a sound made her turn; she thought she heard something somewhere in the trees ahead of her. There it was again, and again; if she didn't know better, she'd think it was the sound of bells, bells that periodically jingled in the night air…

_"And children listen,  
To sleigh bells jingling in the snow…"_

The snow began to fall less insistently, fluttering through the air in soft flakes. They seemed to part like a curtain before a figure that was approaching her, strolling easily among the trees. With every step this person took, there was a clear jangling sound. Sarah stood rooted to the spot like a tree herself, fascinated and terrified at the same time. Though he was too far away to see clearly through the veils of falling snow, she knew that silhouette… it was a shape that had haunted many a dream since it had all begun, on that stormy night several months ago… she might have turned and hurried back the way she had come, heading back away from him, but she knew the trees had closed behind her; there was little she could do but stand here and watch him come towards her…

An authorative hand in a black leather glove brushed aside a branch on the nearest pine tree; a tall, slim, imposing figure slipped into the clearing of sorts that she stood in. Unlike her in her casual indoor clothes – the same ones she had been wearing on Christmas Day - he was dressed in winter finery perfectly suited to these climes; long leather boots encased his feet, and an elaborate burgundy-red coat trimmed with luxurious white fur hung about his shoulders, falling in a long red cape almost to his heels. His high, stiff collar was studded with bells that jangled again, then fell silent as he strode to a halt in front of her, just a few feet away from her.

The snow-filled breeze played with the edges of his halo of golden hair. A smile played across his lips, twisted slightly to one side by… irony? Superiority? Annoyance? She couldn't tell; she had no idea with what regard he held her after all that had happened between them. She wasn't even sure how she felt about him… although he still frightened her - there was no denying it - she was also irrevocably impressed by the imperiousness of him, something beyond just his fine clothes and haughty air. Something in the grace with which he walked, a kind of self-confident swagger; or perhaps in the expression on his face. She couldn't look away from it, as much as she wanted to. His eyes startled her more than anything else; they were too intense, too strange with their two mismatched shades of blue. They were all the more stark and piercing against the white snow and the black trees; yet their blue depths held that same look she had seen before, in the Escher room… a hardness, a conscientious aloofness that veiled something else… bitter disappointment… perhaps even sorrow…

His voice, when he spoke, was soft, yet it seemed to chill the air despite its rich tones; it sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the snow or the cold night air.

"Hello, Sarah."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Sarah steeled herself, regarding him warily. Any sympathy she had felt for him from afar was lost in person. That was perhaps understandable, given the circumstances. She didn't take kindly to having snuggled down in her bed, only to find herself suddenly wandering in a snow-filled forest on a chill winter's night. Given past experience, she was probably justified in feeling more than a little apprehensive. After all that had happened last time, his casual greeting raised her suspicions. It affronted her – and worried her – more than any animosity on his part might have done.

_ Fine,_ she told herself._ If he's going to act pleasant, that's fine. He can't trick me into anything. He has no right to bother me now; I won outright, fair and square. We should be beyond games like that by now. If he thinks I'm going to cower before him just because we're in a strange place, he can think again. I handled it last time; I can handle it – and him – again._

She folded her arms, her words when they came sounding more defensive than she had intended. "What are you doing here?"

"Come now, must that always be your response? You call to me, then are utterly ungrateful when I make my requisite appearance."

"For your information, I never called you! Ever! You always just turn up uninvited and meddle with my life!"

"Well, if that's how you want to look at it." His smile twitched slightly, as though it were holding back laughter; he looked highly amused, making her feel even sillier than she already did. "Well, now that we've established that I've just popped in unannounced to meddle with whatever it is you're doing – what is it, in fact, that you _are_ doing here?"

He had her there. Her cheeks grew hot. Why did he always seem to know just how to back her into a corner? "What does it look like?" she snapped. "I'm just taking a leisurely stroll, in the wide wilderness of god-knows-where, without a coat or gloves or even proper shoes-" she was just wearing her favourite comfy sneakers "-and that is completely normal. Why don't _you_ tell _me_ what I'm doing here? The only other time in my life I've been whisked away to a strange place I had to struggle to find my way out of, you were involved. I see no reason why this is any different. You can't expect me to believe that I found myself suddenly in the middle of a forest, and you just _happened_ to be walking by."

"Oh, you're trying to find your way out, are you? Is that what you're doing?" She hated the patronizing tone he said it in, the feigned surprise that made no secret of that fact that he knew quite well what was going on. And that she had no clue. "Well, if meddling is what I'm here to do, it would be remiss of me not to do it." He took a step towards her; she instinctively took one back. He looked askance at her. "Come, come, there's no need to be like that. You just said you wanted to leave this place, didn't you? For a start, we could at least move out of this copse of trees. I don't know about you, but I don't fancy standing here all night. You'll be buried in a snow drift eventually if you stand there, so you might as well come along." He moved to stand beside her and offered her his arm. She hesitated, watching his expression, trying to read it, looking for some hint of an ulterior motive. He just watched her patiently, that same amused, ironic little smile on his lips.

_Well, if he thinks I'm scared of him, he can think again. At least, I won't show it to him. I'm not just some little kid, and I won't let him intimidate me._

With a purposeful show of indifference, she linked her arm through his and laid her hand on his forearm, just like she had seen them do in old-fashioned films. _Like the figures in the snow globe,_ she realized. His arm through the fabric of his jacket felt firm and warm beneath her palm. She felt the muscles of his forearm flex slightly beneath her hand as he guided her forward. She wished he'd stop watching her with those eyes; it was disconcerting. She stubbornly kept step with him as he led her through the snow and trees, heading forwards, further into the wintry landscape.

They rounded a few trees, then, to her surprise, they stepped out into a wide, sweeping avenue, bordered by neat lines of stately pines and stretching seemingly infinitely in either direction. Forgetting herself in her surprise, she dropped his arm abruptly and started forward, staring into the distance, where the broad pathway stretched onwards on either side of her.

"B-but… that was so simple! This path was just ahead!"

"Well, it is now. Do you expect you would've found it on your own? You were running about without any sense of direction before I came along."

She turned to glare at him and his smug, self-assured smile. _Of all the self-centred, presumptuous-_

"If I'd have taken a few more steps before you turned up, I would've-"

"-found only more trees in front of you, and more closing the way behind you. That's what was happening before, wasn't it?"

She didn't answer right away. Though she didn't trust him, what he said certainly had been the case earlier. "Fine. If you say so. But if only you could find the way out of there, that only proves that you're in charge of this place, you're behind all this. Why did you bring me here? Where _is _here? Somewhere in the Labyrinth?"

"No. This isn't my kingdom, nor is it the human realm. It is a place between them, a bridge, if you like, between the world you inhabit and mine. And contrary to your beliefs, I do not control this place, and I did not bring you here. It is a place of your own creation, you called me into it, and I didn't change it; I merely brought some order to it."

She regarded him skeptically, hands thrust on hips. "Come on! _I_ created this place? How could I do that? _Why_ would I do that? And why would I call _you_, of all people? I find this place – and _you_ – absolutely maddening! I wouldn't-"

"Wouldn't you? Humans so often do maddening things, things that so often thwart their own efforts. But then, that is just the way things work best sometimes. A wise man once said that to go forwards, you must sometimes go backwards. As to why we both inexplicably wound up in this place – perhaps you felt like being rescued? Just like you felt like being antagonized the last time?"

"I-I didn't-"

"Oh, you didn't? Well, if you don't believe me, just look over there."

He gestured to the trees opposite them. There was a gap in the tree line that she was sure hadn't been there a moment ago; a short path led off the main thoroughfare they stood in. It didn't go far before it ended in a cul-de-sac, and within it she could see-

"Hey! T-that's…"

It was a replica of her own bedroom standing in the middle of the forest, bordered by trees. Snow was falling on it, forming white rivulets on the bed spread, gilding the edges of the furniture with white ridges. She stepped into this 'room'; it felt strange, yet familiar at the same time. Every detail seemed to be exactly as it was back in her real room. She picked up the quill pen from her desk. There was no mistaking it; it was the one her mother had sent her. It didn't turn into cobbled-together bits of trash either, not like last time; it was real. But not quite complete. She realized that two things were missing, the snow globe and the figurine; they should've been standing there on the desk with her other presents, but they weren't. Next to the space where they should've been lay her copy of '_The Nutcracker_'. She put two and two together… the book's plot, and the absence of those toys…

"I'm the real thing, in case you were wondering." He had followed her into the clearing and was wandering idly amongst the furniture, watching her. "It takes more than molded plastic to recreate my person. I would think the distinction would be clear from the moment we met." She pulled her hand away from '_The Nutcracker_', cursing him for being able to read her so easily. Like a book. When his thoughts and intent were so impenetrable…

"Ours is a different tale completely, and even then, it completely contradicts the book it was written in. The story was supposed to be easy. We both knew how it was supposed to go." He stepped towards a shelf, seeming to know exactly where he needed to look, and slid a book out from among the others. Its cover was an even deeper scarlet than his coat.

_ 'The Labyrinth.'_

"You read that story. You enjoyed it. You knew the plot, the characters, the way the roles were supposed to be played. Just as I knew so well what my duties were, what the promises I made to you were. You said those words, those opening lines, though you knew what they would entail. I appeared, centre stage, and delivered my lines. I was suitably menacing. The story called for me to create fear; I was frightening. I performed in every scene, reenacted every line to perfection. But still you weren't satisfied. You made the wish; but it only brought you distress and regret. Perhaps, then, it was not entirely I who acted wrongly; perhaps you also made the wrong wish from the start…"

He tossed the book disdainfully down in the snow and stepped over it, coming towards her again. His smile was gone; he looked at her with a startlingly serious expression. She leaned away from him against the desk, still taking in his words, wondering at them, at their implication. He made it sound like… like he had been obeying _her_ command, giving her something _she_ had asked for…

"I gave you the power to call upon me, Sarah. Whatever you wished, I offered to fulfill. Well, it is Christmas, after all. So, little girl, what do you wish for now?"

She had no idea how to answer. The question itself made her mind go blank. She didn't… she had never… she hadn't asked-

"I… I don't want anything from you," she managed to say a little breathlessly, wondering as she did at the earnest expression on his face, and just what it was that he was offering her…

"That's not entirely true. No, it isn't. You do want something. You're just not prepared to ask for it outright. But not all wishes are wished with words alone. Just what was it that you wished for earlier - wished for with your tears?"

She nervously raised a hand to her cheek. It felt embarrassingly hot – she must be blushing furiously - but quite dry beneath her fingertips. _How did he know…?_

"Oh, I know quite well what you wish for. Perhaps I even know better than you know yourself. But though I promised long ago to do all within my power to grant you your wishes, it's not as simple as that. Not any more. What you wish for now… how can I grant that? How can I truly bring it to fruition, given our rather… _unfortunate_ history? What you ask for now… I doubt brandishing a bouquet of roses at you would do it."

As he said it, he waved his hand in an elegant gesture; as soon as he did so, a fresh cloud of snow fell from the sky. But it was crimson, falling in large, soft flakes, until it hit the ground, turning as flawlessly white as the snow that already lay there. Sarah watched it fall, enraptured by this stunt despite herself. She held out a hand before her, and obediently, a large red 'flake' fell onto the palm of her hand. The rose petal was velvety-soft and sweet-scented. She let it fall from her hand; it disappeared, merging into the white blanket of snow at her feet. Amazed by this gesture – and the words that had foreshadowed it – she looked at him in bewilderment. He sighed, seemingly in exasperation, realizing he had to make his meaning plain.

"How do I give you a romance, Sarah?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Her heart stopped for a few moments, then restarted with a series of thuds that she was sure must've been deafening to all within earshot. To him. He was watching her, seemingly impassive. There was no more smiling, no more smugness now. But there wasn't anything else either. No emotion. She wasn't sure if she had heard him right; had he really just said those words? In particular _that_ word? Had he… had he just said… had he somehow… somehow known that she…?

He watched her reaction, not doing anything, not saying anything more; just watching. Seeming to be waiting for a response. As though it had been a genuine question. As though he wanted an actual answer.

She couldn't think straight. Months of repressed uncertainty rushed to the surface; her resolve to remain defiant broke down.

"How, indeed," she said coldly, and to her shame scalding-hot tears stung her eyes, "when you probably hate me?"

She looked down, wishing she could melt into the snow itself rather than stand here in front of him, crying like a fool. After all she had gone through, after all he had made her face… after she had struggled against him, and beaten him… she was acting like she had been the weaker one… like the one who had lost… How triumphant he must be to see her cry, to see the so-called 'victor' of their game reduced to tears before him… he must think she was so pathetic-

The leather of his glove was cool and soft on her burning skin as he cupped his hand beneath her chin and tilted her head up, making her look at him. She blinked furiously, trying to hide her tears, though he had surely already seen them. His mismatched blue eyes stared directly into hers. "Is that what you think? That I hate you? Because you won, and got to go home happily with your little brother? Well, perhaps not altogether 'happily'." His fingers drew away for a moment, then returned, straying over her cheek, wiping away her tears. His was a gentle touch, his fingertips softer and warmer than before; as he drew his hand away, she saw to her surprise that he had removed the glove from it. Her tears glistened on his pale fingertips.

"I get asked to take children away every so often," he told her. "In all those instances, a very small minority of wishers actually mean it when they wish it, and in those cases, I take the child away forever, giving them a happier home in my kingdom. The rest insist that they don't really mean it, and want to win their children back. Those ones, I lead into my Labyrinth. Some give up before they even get past the first few obstacles. Some become sidetracked, lost in distractions and temptations - in the dreams I offer them. To those, I give a choice; and whilst, in most cases, they choose to take the child back with them, some do choose to accept what I offer them, and leave the child with me in return. Ones like that do not care for their children sincerely, and the child is, in most of those cases, better off staying with me, where they can feel they are welcome, belonging to a community of others who were shunned by their so-called 'families'. However, there are some who walk the Labyrinth and never give up, no matter the dangers they face, no matter the obstacles in their way. My Labyrinth tests ones like that, and proves them to be true. You are one such as that. You proved your love and determination were strong enough to overcome all the challenges that lay before you, for the sake of saving one whom you cared for. How can I possibly hate qualities such as that?"

His eyes held hers as he said these words; she felt the sincerity in them. Then his gaze shifted, sliding away almost self-consciously. "They are qualities in you that I so greatly admire; yet, can I be blamed for almost wishing that you couldn't solve the Labyrinth in time? How could I _not_ try instead to tempt you from your path - to grant you your dreams - when your dreams coincided with mine?" His eyes darted back to hers and held her, drawing her irresistibly in. "There is a saying I once heard: 'Love the player, hate the game.' That perfectly sums up my situation. I am less than happy that I lost. However, I am thankful for your sake and that of your brother that you won. And I don't hate you. Far from it. I doubt I could _ever_ hate you."

His hand gently brushed her cheek again, then went to her shoulder. She didn't realize until she felt the steadiness of his touch that she was shivering. "You're cold." He reached up and detached his own fur-edged cape from his shoulders, draping it around her.

"I-I'm not really," she stammered, suddenly feeling too warm with him leaning in so close to her. "I'm j-just relieved, I guess. I wondered for a long time… about how… h-how you…"

He smiled at her; it was a smile unlike any she had seen on his face before. It was a genuine smile, a smile that transformed his features, made their lines less severe. It was a warm smile. "You needn't have wondered. Don't you remember how the story goes?"

She reflected on his words. She _did_ remember…

_"Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, there lived__  
a beautiful princess. Life wasn't easy for the young__  
princess, for her wicked stepmother worked her like a__  
slave. But what no one knew was that the King of the  
Goblins had fallen in love with the princess…"_

_"…the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the princess…"_

His smile deepened as he saw that she understood. He fastened the cloak around her shoulders. It reached down to her ankles; he was taller than her, but somehow the cloak was just the right length for her. As though he had somehow commanded it to adjust itself for her height. He moved to the desk, and after giving it a cursory glance, he found what he was looking for. The snow globe. _But she was sure it hadn't been there before…_

He turned the key at its base. It began to play its tinkling little tune. A tune they both knew well. _Their song_.

_"There's such a fooled heart  
Beating so fast in search of new dreams  
A love that will last within your heart…"  
_

He turned back to her and, with an elegant flourish, offered her his hand. She looked at him shyly for a moment, her face flushed; then she stepped towards him, and took it.

With what seemed like weightless movement, he began whirled her about the clearing, the bells of his outfit jangling jauntily with each graceful step he took. Guided by his arms, she felt lighter than air; the cape flared out behind her and snow flurries danced in their wake. Rose petals still fluttered through the air around them in slow motion, as though they were suspended in midair by magic. _A magic woven from goodwill and companionship._

The snow globe seemed to play for an impossibly long time, longer than was possible for the turn of its key. It didn't stop until colour had come to their cheeks and they were both giddy with the constant spinning, laughing together, arm in arm and hands clasped. It was strange to hear him laugh like that, lost in the dance, all pomposity of kingship dispensed with. The sound exhilarated her. She couldn't believe how different he was now.

"This is how it should've been," she murmured half to herself.

He heard her; he gave her another smile that was a little different this time; a little wistful. "Yes. This time you made the right wish, and I sincerely thank you for it. But I must also thank that little brother of yours." When she gave him a questioning look, he grinned fondly and explained, "The little chap sees and understands more than others think. He observed you and figured what you wanted; he also made the same wish, on your behalf." He led her to bed and motioned for her to sit; feeling slightly dizzy and breathless, she was happy to. As he lightly swept away a stray lock of hair that fell across her face, his hand suddenly jerked with a metallic _clink_; the button on his sleeve cuff had gotten caught on her new necklace. He disengaged it, his fingers toying with it for a moment. Then he let it go, and took a step away from her.

"Merry Christmas, Sarah."

His voice seemed to caress the air; it shimmered and echoed strangely around the small clearing. He continued to step backward, and a sudden fall of snow came down between him and her; this time it was true snow, falling thickly in downy white flakes. She wanted to get up and follow him, to ask him to stay, but her body felt strangely heavy. The snow was coming down so quickly now, it almost hid him from view. She could only catch glimpses of his red coat here and there through the curtain of white; or perhaps those were stray rose petals falling, swirling in the snowy air. The last thing she saw were two points of burning blue light fading into the wintry backdrop, before everything, even the black silhouettes of the trees, was blotted out by the snow, receding into an impenetrable blanket of white that filled her vision completely.

* * *

The cloak was still around her shoulders; it felt soft and warm. She smiled, comforted by its presence, and felt along its edge. There was no fur beneath her fingers. She frowned and explored further. She felt the cushiony softness of a quilt surrounding her. Puzzled, she opened her eyes.

Her vision was filled with a glaring white light; the curtain was opened a crack, and the sunlight reflecting off the snowy landscape outside was almost blinding. Momentarily dazzled, she gave her room a rapid glance. It was _her_ room, her real room. Her heart sank as her mind returned to what had happened last night… what she _thought_ had happened last night… it must've all been a dream… but such a beautiful dream… so strange, at first slightly frightening… and yet, so… so romantic… especially him, he had been so…she almost wished that-

With a disappointed sigh, she clambered out of bed and crossed to the wardrobe to get her dressing gown. On the way, her bare foot touched something. She froze and looked down. She had trod on the corner of a book that was lying on the carpet.

_'The Labyrinth.'_

She stared at it. She remembered… red on white… a red book lying on white snow… a crimson coat against the wintry landscape… he had lifted the book from the shelf, and dropped it disdainfully on the ground…

_ "The story was supposed to be easy. We both knew how it was supposed to go..."_

With a start, she turned to her desk. Everything was as she had left it, the quill pen resting on the journal, her copy of _'The Nutcracker'_ lying to one side; just near it the snow globe was standing, a few snow flecks drifting surreally around the figures within it… She squinted. _Was that…?_ no, surely it couldn't be … but it couldn't be just her imagination… it couldn't be a trick of the light… it looked like… like a few snow flakes inside the orb had turned _red_…

She leaned closer for a better look. As she did, she felt something pull around her neck. Her necklace had gotten caught on something. But she was sure she had taken the chain off and put it safely away in its box before she had gone to bed last night…

A hand had caught it. The hand of the figurine was tangled in the chain. The hand that held the tiny crystal… but, the crystal had broken off, she had carefully put it away to stick back on later… She touched it lightly with the tip of one finger. It was firmly attached. The figurine calmly surveyed her puzzled expression. _It's like it repaired itself… or perhaps someone else did-_

She disentangled it from her necklace. The chain itself felt too heavy around her neck; something cool and metallic bumped against her fingers. Surprised, she grasped it and held it up to see what it was. A heart-shaped silver pendant hung from the chain. She had no idea how it had gotten there and had never seen it before, but somehow it looked almost familiar… There was a round decorative panel in gold at its centre, etched with some sort of design… a kind of Celtic pattern that looked a bit like a face… _a goblin face…_

All of a sudden, it hit her: where she had seen a design like that before… on another pendant, one shaped rather like a triangle with ornately curling corners… a pendant she had seen around _his _neck…

Her fingers curled around the heart. The metal was surprisingly warm…she remembered, how he had brushed a lock of hair away from her face… and as he had, his button had caught in the necklace… he had touched it for a moment, then let it go… he must've _placed_ the pendant on the chain as he did so…

She admired the pendant's glint in a ray of sunlight, pondering. _Why did he give this to me? A heart-shaped pendant…_

_ "There's such a fooled heart  
Beating so fast in search of new dreams  
A love that will last within your heart…" _

She remembered the words he had said just after that had happened, just before he had left her, disappearing into the whirling snow…

_"Merry Christmas, Sarah…"_

_Then this must be…__  
...a Christmas present…_

In an instant, she had made up her mind. She knew what she had to do.

She glanced swiftly at the clock. It was Boxing Day, but perhaps… if she went this morning and had a look… with any luck, it might be-

She snatched her jeans from their hanger in the wardrobe, along with the first long-sleeve shirt she saw, and pulled them hastily on. As she slid her new vest over her shoulders, she looked at the goblin figurine. _I know now,_ she told herself, and it, addressing it with her thoughts; _I know now how the story is supposed to go…_

She thrust her feet into a pair of boots, ran a hand through her dishevelled bed-hair as she grabbed her purse from the dressing table, and hurried out the door.

* * *

He gradually opened his eyes with a low groan. He felt physically drained in every limb, though he had just 'woken'. It had taken more out of him than he had thought – it had been her dream, but it had taken an immense effort on his part to sustain it for so long, and to change it the way he had. But it had been a necessary effort, and one he had sincerely enjoyed performing. He knew he was the only one who could've changed that dream. Improved it, until it had become the dream she had really wished for. He leaned back on downy cushions, running a hand over his face tiredly, but contentedly. Remembering.

_All things that involve her seem to exhaust me. But I wouldn't have it any other way. She is worth the effort. Always, always worth the effort_. _I would gladly drive myself to exhaustion over and over again, if I can only do so in order to serve her…_

He opened his eyes properly for the first time. And was slightly taken aback by what he saw. His entire bedchamber was covered in a layer of white snow – it lay in the folds of the sheets, in thick drifts upon the floor; it even clung in glistening frost-crystals to the canopy of the four-poster-bed. He sighed. No wonder he was tired. The dream had spilled over into reality; he had accidentally made part of it actual. He shouldn't have done that, hadn't meant to. He made dreams, and that was all – they stayed as dreams. That was all they were, all last night was. And that was how it would remain. That was all he could offer – dreams, and nothing more.

He smiled at the memory of that dream - his usual sad smile, a smile for what had been. Or for what might have been. _I'm glad she got what she wanted in the end. A satisfactory conclusion if there ever was one._ So why did it leave him feeling slightly hollow now that it was done with?

He climbed out of bed, gesturing as he did over the loose shirt and trousers he had attired himself in for slumber. In an instant, they turned into a suit of court dress, resplendent in their grandeur as per usual. He looked around the room with a sigh. It would have to be taken care of before it melted. With a broad sweep of his arm, all trace of white was banished from the room, leaving it looking slightly dreary in its wake. He turned away from it, squared his shoulders, set his features in a regally disapproving look, and with his usual majestic mien, he swept out the door, ready to commence his day's duties as King of the Goblins.

_As the humans say, 'back to the daily grind,'_ he thought wryly to himself. _Daily grind? More like 'daily drag'. Or 'daily crawl'. That's what the hours seem to do, anyway._ He allowed himself another vexed sigh as he considered the day ahead. It would be, he knew, much like every other day. They were always all the same.

_It's a shame Christmas is over. It was a distraction, at the very least. A distraction of the best kind._

As he marched away toward the throne room, behind him, a rose petal drifted from where it had lain, overlooked, atop the bed's canopy, floating serenely toward the floor. As it hit the stone flag, it turned bone-white; an instant later, it melted, becoming translucent.

A tiny droplet like a miniature glass orb, containing within it the remnants of a dream.

* * *

_Author's note: Getting closer to the end! Thanks for reading, sorry it dragged on so long after Christmas was actually over, but I hope you've been enjoying it anyway! Please stay tuned for the last few chapters!_

_ Drawing is one of my great loves – other than writing – and currently there are a few Jareth-related drawings in my deviantart gallery. There will be more to come, including an illustration of Jareth as he appears in the 'dream sequence', in his red coat and fur-lined cape. You'll find it, this story, and various other curiosities in my gallery, please feel free to pop in and visit: _**wai-jing. deviantart_. com _**_(delete the spaces for the link to work)_**_  
_**

_ Thanks to everyone who sent in reviews – I love getting them, they spur me on to write more. Enjoy reading, take care, and happy holidays!_

**_ ~ Wai-Jing_**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

She had given her dad and Irene some garbled excuse about having a letter she had forgotten to post as she had raced past the kitchen and out the front door. It was the best excuse she could think of at the time. The truth was far more difficult to explain, and far more important. She couldn't explain just what was so urgent as to send her out of the house first thing in the morning, but somehow it _was_ urgent… it was something she just _had_ to do…

As she raced down the street, sprinting past various different shops, she was likewise moving between hope and apprehension in quick succession. The street was pretty quiet; the larger chain-stores were open and people were lining up outside the cinema, but otherwise, it looked like the smaller specialty stores were mostly closed for Boxing Day…

At last, expectant and nervous, she reached the store she wanted. She gradually slowed to a halt; she stood panting outside it, her shoulders sinking in disappointment. The shop window was dark and the 'closed' sign was hung in the doorway. She stood looking at it for a long while, wondering what to do now. She would just have to wait, she supposed, and hopefully it would be open tomorrow…

She turned, and nearly ran straight into someone who had been coming up the street just behind her.

"Whoa! Careful there, young lady!"

"M-Mr. Christolphe…?"

She almost didn't recognize him. He wasn't wearing his usual half-moon glasses; his eyes seemed bigger without them, and to hold even more of an amiable twinkle.

"That's me alright. Weren't you just in the shop last thing on Christmas Eve? Did that friend of yours enjoy their present?"

"Er, yes, thank you, he loved it…"

"I'm glad. I sure hope you treated that letter knife safely. I thought you seemed like a sensible girl, at any rate." He smiled brightly. "What brings you out here today? Something I can help you with?" She faltered uncertainly, not sure how to explain, wondering if he would be willing to oblige on what was apparently his day-off. He saved her the trouble. His eyes seemed, she thought, to hold a knowing glint. "Lucky for you my little grandson decided to race his new toy truck across the table just as I put my spectacles down. Good, solid toy truck it was, too; knocked them right off the table and smashed 'em to bits. I keep my only spare pair here at the store. My son-in-law drove me in to town and he's waiting for me at the coffee shop down the road, but I don't think he'll mind waiting a bit longer. Come on in and we'll see what we can do."

From the pocket of his tweed coat he pulled a bulky bunch of keys, thickly hung with curious keyrings which easily outnumbered the actual keys on them. He gallantly held the door open for her, the 'closed' sign swinging back into place behind him.

"Now, what was it you wanted?"

* * *

"Hoggle! _Hoggle!_"

The sixth time she called, raising her voice as loud as she dared without her parents hearing from downstairs, she was finally answered by a hoarse groan. A hand shot up and grabbed hold of the mirror's frame from the inside, startling her. The hand shakily hauled a squat little body into view. Hoggle looked even more grizzled and grouchy than usual; he had huge bags under his eyes, and he continued to clutch the mirror frame, seemingly to keep himself upright.

"What is it?" he asked despondently. "I already saw you yesterday. I have a splittin' headache and I could do without all the shouting."

"Are you ok?" she asked far more quietly, forgetting her own preoccupations momentarily upon being confronted by his seedy appearance.

"No I'm not," he muttered in reply, voice full of self-pity. "I have the worst hangover in the history of the Underground. When Gwymlim said he had good stuff in those kegs of his, he wasn't kidding. I wish he hadn't had quite so much… and that I hadn't had quite so many… They was good, but they weren't worth this… I feel like an entire gang of Fireys has been using my head as a hockey puck…"

Sarah hovered anxiously throughout this miserable monologue. "Look, I'm sorry you're not feeling well, but I really need you to do something for me. I-"

"Can't it wait until tomorrow? I was _trying_ to sleep it off…" He partially disappeared outside the frame again, as though he were about to slump back down on the floor on his side of the portal.

"Wait!" she yelled out urgently, forgetting to keep the volume down, and he winced, but obediently froze. "No, I'm sorry, but it can't wait," she said, more quietly this time. "It's really, _really_ important that you take this to the castle for me, _today_-"

"Wait a second…" Though perhaps moving painfully, Hoggle's mind was slowly ticking over. "When you say 'to the castle', where exactly do you mean-?... you can't mean you want me to take something to… to _him_?"

"Y-yes, actually, that's what I mean. It-"

"Uh-uh, nothin' doin', especially not today." He backed hastily away from the portal, out of arm's reach. "I like to have me wits about me when I hafta see _him_, and even then things usually don't go too well. I can't go see _him_ when I feel like this, especially if this is about _him and you_. Never again, I told meself. It's gonna be one of my New Year's resolutions, my primary resolution – self-preservation. I've been threatened with the Bog far too many times this year to-"

"No, it won't be like that, Hoggle, I promise. He'll be happy to get this, I think. He won't be mad at you, not once he opens _this_."

"How can you be sure?" he wanted to know, warily eyeing the package she held out to him.

"I just _know_. You can trust me, Hoggle. I know what I'm doing."

"You reckoned you knew what you were _last_ time, Miss Priss, and look how well that went. First the oubliette, then the cleaners, and the Bog-" he shuddered, "even Humungous, and the entire goblin army, and-"

"Yes, well, I really mean it when I say it this time, and anyway, it worked out alright last time, didn't it? _Please_, Hoggle? I'll be forever grateful, and it really _is_ important, otherwise I wouldn't ask… I knew I _had_ to ask you though, since you're the only one I can trust with this sort of thing…"

He considered for nearly a full minute, scowling furiously, looking determined to refuse, but softened by her flattery despite himself. His crafty eyes darted from the desk he could see over her shoulder – or rather the items, or _item,_ upon it - to the package she held hopefully in her outstretched hand, to where her other hand was clasped around a pendant on a chain around her neck, a pendant which, when he glimpsed it through her fingers, had a rather _distinctive_ design upon it…

His eyes went grudgingly to the forlorn, pleading look on her face. He signed deeply, slumping in defeat. "Alright. I don't have to give him any message or anything, do I?" he added sulkily.

"No, just giving it to him is enough." Sarah lovingly handed her package over to him; he eyed it dubiously. "You don't have to tell him anything, if he asks who it's from, just say-" a tiny, mischievous smile flitted upon her lips "-that he should _know very well_ who it's from."

"And he won't get mad at me, you say?" Hoggle sounded extremely doubtful.

"Cross my heart. You'll do it?" she begged, giving him her best damsel-in-distress look. Her acting skills won out.

"Alright," he conceded at last, sounding rather like he was now the one in distress. "Somehow I don't believe you, but if it's as important as you say…"

"Oh, thank you, Hoggle! You're wonderful!" She leaned into the mirror's frame. He recoiled, suddenly gaining energy he couldn't have mustered moments ago.

"Ugh! For pity's sake, don't kiss me! I'm going, I'm going already! Yeesh! I'm going to need to lie down for a long while after this… I sure hope he's in a good mood-" Thus muttering darkly to himself, he hobbled reluctantly out of view.

Sarah watched the glass for a little while, wondering what was going on beyond the frame. Then, feeling her mission was accomplished, she turned away. She still felt a bit of apprehension. She wondered if she _was_ indeed right, how well it would be received… Well, there was no point in worrying now. What was done was done. She smiled to herself, and at the goblin statuette on her desk, beside the pair of snow-bound lovers. She was glad she had changed her mind. Despite her persistent wondering, this felt right. She was sure that this time, she had done the right thing… this time, the story would end the right way…

She stepped out into the hallway, then, as though she had just remembered something, she turned and slipped into the room next door. Toby was standing up in his cot, Lancelot again dangling from his pudgy fist, as was now his rightful place. As he caught sight of her, Toby gave a delighted giggle which, she gathered, equated somewhat to a 'good morning' in his private language. She leaned over the side of the cot, affectionately stroking his downy head. "Thank you, Toby," she said, accompanying it with a kiss on his forehead. "I think I finally got the right wish now. We both did, thanks to you."

Toby's glad, nonsensical gurgle in reply made her wonder if he'd actually managed it at all, or if _he_ had been had been joking with her when he had said…

She shook her head. She supposed she'd never know. But in any case, she really was thankful.

Toby was staring at her, seemingly transfixed. He let go of the bear to reach out with his little hand towards her, and said, quite clearly: "Sa, Jaweh fa pres!" Sarah blinked in surprise, looking from him to the gleaming pendant that had caught and held his gaze. Then she smiled and offered it to him, letting him touch it.

_Well, I guess now I know._

* * *

The usual daytime routine was underway in the castle beyond the Goblin City.

He was doing the exact same thing that he did every day. Which was to slump in a picturesque fashion on his throne, paying no heed to the occasional Goblish rabble who wandered in, amusing their little goblin minds in whatever idiotic fashion suited them at the time. Here he was, back in the 'daily grind', and would be until who-knew-when. The holiday, at least, had broken the unceasing inanity of it all for a brief moment. _When will the next holiday be?_ New Years' Eve, he supposed. Boxing Day was a non-event here, much like it was in the human realm, and he didn't feel confident of being able to explain the holiday to his goblins without there being a lot of black eyes all round. What was there otherwise? _Easter?_ _That might be alright…_ though goblins weren't too fond of sweets, any holiday that involved eating was usually met with avid enthusiasm. Had he forgotten something before then? December was almost done with, so then there was January, February… _February_… _Valentine's Day_… Well, that would likely be a write-off at any rate. Not a holiday suited to Goblish nature at all. And what could _he_ really expect from Valentine's Day anyway…?

He felt wretched and aggravated, as though he were tethered to the spot and determined to break away. His thoughts, in fact, were very far away; in another realm altogether. He wondered what kind of temper she had been in when she had woken, if she had noticed his present, what she thought of it… whether she appreciated it, whether he had managed to please her, whether she understood what it was that he felt he had _truly_ given her…

He slouched a little lower in his chair. He knew now why he felt so hollow. It was more than just the usual numbing boredom. It was a nervous agitation coupled with a new, heavy listlessness, as though his soul, divorced from his body, was lost somewhere… as though he had _given his heart away_…

There was a low scuffling noise somewhere close on his right. He didn't bother to lift the hand he had artfully draped over his face in a petulant attitude. Continuing to reclining in languid regality, one eye alone moved, a sky-blue pupil swiveling around to peer at something hovering beside his throne. He sighed with utmost weariness.

"I am sick of hearing you squeaking about in my shadow like some large, cowardly mouse, Hogwin. What is it you want to bother me with now?"

The goblin was becoming an irritatingly familiar sight. Jareth wondered what he was doing here; especially when he looked rather the worse for wear. He vaguely remembered a rumour that a Gimly over by the thirty-seventh gate or some-such had had several kegs of grog in his possession… it seemed Heglin had been one of the ones to sample their contents.  
The dwarf-goblin rather looked like he was wondering what he was doing there as well.

"I-It's Hoggle, your Majesty," he stammered, his grogginess miraculously cured by nerves. Abject fear could be a strong tonic. "And I don't want to bother you at all; it's just, I have a delivery here for you, s-someone asked me to give you this-"

This piqued his interest enough for Jareth to actually open his eyes and turn to face him. "A _delivery_?" he asked incredulously. "_Here_? And who, pray tell, would entrust _you_ with such a thing?"

"T-They's told me to say if you asked that you should _know_ _very well_ who it's from. T-those are their words, that is; they're certainly not mine… I'd n-never…"

A puzzled frown crinkled Jareth's stately brow. He looked attentively at the package Hoggle held. It was wrapped in a bit of smooth, shiny black wrapping paper that hardly looked cheap, and tied with a bit of silver ribbon ("something a bit more mysterious-looking, to suit the contents," Mr Christolphe had said) and a card was tucked under the glittery bow atop it. He looked at it very hard. If he didn't know better, he would say it looked like a… a _Christmas present_…

"Thank you, Hoggle."

Rather feeling like he had déjà vu, Hoggle fled once he had been relieved of his task, grinning slightly to himself. _So lightning does strike twice… he got my name right _again…

Once again, Jareth just stared at his present for several long minutes, taking it in. His usually astute, composed mind was faltering. As he gazed fixedly at it, admiring it, drinking in the sight of it, his mind wondered in vain… _Who could have…?_

His mind went back several months, remembering her, the sight of her struggling through mazes and over bog land, surrounded by her associates in her quest… the dwarf-goblin had been among them…_was it somehow possible_… he hardly dared even to consider the possibility… _but could _she-

He slipped the plain white card from its place and held it up to read. The words were few, but what ones there were shook his senses.

_"Love the player, hate the game"_

He was slowly realizing that it really _might be_… but surely, that was more than he could dare to hope… but in fact, it seemed… _could it be-_

_Well, you won't find out by staring at it as though you've been robbed of your wits. What _has_ happened to your nerve? Go ahead and open it!_

Suiting the action to the thought, he reverently undid the wrappings, taking care to smooth the ribbon as he unknotted it, not to tear the gleaming black paper. Underneath it was a rectangular box with curved edges, its surface lined with black velvet. It was the kind with a stiffly-hinged lid. It looked secretive, divulging nothing of its contents. He tried to quash his building hopes, telling himself to remain sceptical, but feeling a twinge of hope despite himself…

He prised the lid open. And he stared. For a very long time. Trying to take in what he saw. Trying to believe it.

Apparently, his present had pleased her - and she had _reciprocated_… with _these..._

Gradually, his features smoothed into a smile of elation that had seldom – if ever – appeared there before.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

After her morning run to the shops, the day settled into a quiet one – Boxing Day was usually like that. She had wandered from Toby's room downstairs to grab a late brunch; she didn't take long, but by the time she came back, Hoggle was impatiently waiting to confirm his delivery. When she haltingly asked how _he_ had received it, Hoggle had gruffly replied that he had been in a right-royal bad mood as usual, and he had merely gone very quiet when he had handed the gift over. Hoggle's tone rather smugly implied that the reaction had not been a favourable one. Although Sarah was a bit worried at his description, she knew Hoggle was irreparably biased against his king – and perhaps rightly so. One smell of the Bog would be enough to make anyone's thoughts rather uncharitable, Sarah thought wryly. Instead she tried to imagine Jareth's reaction, as she hoped it would be; she remembered him as he had been in the dream last night, laughing carelessly, smiling broadly, eyes crinkling at the edges, their depths rendered the soft, joy-filled blue of a summer sky. She hoped her picture was nearer the truth. She distractedly thanked Hoggle as lavishly as she could, placating him somewhat, and left him to recover from his ordeal – well, both of them - in peace.

The phone rang a bit after lunch; she had to scramble to get to the living room in time to pick it up. The voice she heard through the receiver made her smile instantly. With all that had happened, she had completely forgotten that her mother had said that she would call on Boxing Day.

She heard an animated tale of the Christmas pantomime's successful production, and in return she described the fabulous presents she had received – making sure to thank her mother for the ones she had sent – and recounted some of Toby's antics (tactfully omitting certain ones, the significance of which only she, Toby, and _one other_ understood). They chatted for almost an hour before her mother offered to put Jeremy on the line. Jeremy's talk was boisterous, as was his manner when he was around her – she always found him to be great fun, as well as thoroughly charming. They had been talking and joking for quite some time before he asked the question:

"How did you like those little trifles I sent over with your mother's feather duster?" - he jokingly referred to the quill pen. "Were they alright? Did I pick out the right things for you?"

Sarah paused before answering. She thought back to the presents, to Christmas Day. And to what had come _after_. She only perhaps fully realized now the significance of what she had received then. A slim hand closed around the chain, and the pendant that hung upon it; her skin prickled excitedly as she remembered the flutter of snowing rose petals, the whisper of a fur-edged cloak over the slick white ground, and the light touch of the arms that had guided her gently, moving her through the steps of a dance over the snow…

A couple turning about amid a soft fall of snowflakes, accompanied by a tinkling little tune… turning in the midst of a glass orb, a glistening vessel for a wistful dream… a dream that was wistful no longer… a dream that had come _true…_

"Yes," she said, trying to convey to him as much genuine gratitude as she could with her voice alone. "Thank you, I love them. They were perfect. I couldn't have wished for anything better." And she meant it completely when she said it. The beautiful smile on her face would have told the rest of the story, if he could've seen it.

Something brushed against the glass of the window opposite the couch where she sat; engrossed in the conversation, she didn't notice it. It was a soft sound, like a light, snow-filled breeze grazing the window pane. Or perhaps a wing tipped with downy white feathers which lightly touched the glass as it spread and flapped away, over the snow-covered treetops.

* * *

That afternoon, she went for a walk down to the park.

There was little else to do. Irene had gone out for a post-Christmas catch-up over coffee with some friends; Toby was taking his afternoon nap, and her father was comfortably browsing through a book before the fire.

"What necklace is that?" he asked when she went to tell him where she was going. The question startled her slightly, though she had prepared herself to answer it.

"Erm, it's an old one of Mum's," she answered as innocently as she could manage. "She gave it to me ages ago, she didn't wear it much and since I liked it, she said I could have it. I thought it might look alright on my new chain."

He peered at the gold inlay glimmering in the firelight. "What an unusual design. I don't remember ever seeing it."

"Mum said she didn't wear it much, and I didn't have a chain to wear it on until I got this one from Jeremy. It was too heavy for a bit of ribbon, and it didn't look too good on string." She surprised herself with how complete the lie she had created was. She supposed play-acting was good practice for this sort of thing. Learning lines and delivering them convincingly; that was all it was. She had perhaps gone to unnecessary lengths; her father wasn't exactly a man who was too interest in jewellery. At her words, he merely considered the necklace casually over the top of his book.

"Well, make sure you take care of it. Both the chain and the pendant look well-made and expensive. You don't want anything to happen to them, especially if they were presents."

As she went out the door, pulling on her parka and making sure her knitted gloves were in her pocket, she silently agreed with him, clasping her fingers, as was fast becoming a habit, protectively around the silver heart.

It was only when she got out onto the doorstep that she realized only one of her gloves was with her; she turned and trudged back inside, up to her room. After a rapid glance about, she spotted it on her desk; she must've put the pair down whilst she got ready and accidentally only picked up one on her way out the door. As she snatched it up, she couldn't help darting a quick glance at the other items on her desk. And she did a double-take. She leaned closer, peering at it to make sure she wasn't mistaken.

Then she smiled.

* * *

She set out on her walk alone. Even Merlin didn't go with her; he was fast asleep on the verandah, curled up in the middle of an old doona and most likely dreaming about the bit of ham rind he had been given as a lunchtime treat. She had shaken her head with a chagrinned expression when her suggestion of a walk had fallen on deaf ears. She had the feeling that Merlin and Ambrosius were perhaps more similar than she had realized.

The stream had frozen over. She looked into it as she crossed the bridge, seeing a slightly distorted version of herself looking curiously back. She wandered along a little path that snaked its way across the parkland, following the stream's path. The little pocket of wilderness was very still and peaceful, covered in a carpet of dazzling white; as she wandered aimlessly through the landscape, more snow began to lightly fall. She could feel it alighting upon her hair, drifting dreamily on a thin breeze that fluttered through the trees like an unseen wraith. Most of the trees that stood nearby lifted bare branches to the sky, covered in shimmering ice crystals which gave the enmeshed twigs the appearance of a lacy spider's web. A lot of words, those trees had heard over the years, when she had come down here to do her play acting; they were like silent stalls in a theatre during rehearsals. They had seen a lot of scenes reenacted, a lot of dramas unfurled. And they had seen the story at its beginning, all those months ago. In the distance, a lone conifer was tipped with white. It reminded her of other similar trees she had seen recently.

As she took a part-step, part-leap over a large, frozen puddle on the path, the pendant swung forward on its chain with her motion, falling back against the front of her vest as she righted herself. She smiled privately as she felt it tap lightly against her chest. Its weight there felt comfortable. _Like another heart lying just over her own, beating in unison…_

A muffled _thwump_ caught her attention; she turned her head sharply. A few yards away, a branch swayed lightly, dripping and bare; the weight of the snow on it must've made its white covering slid free onto the frosty ground. She shook her head ruefully. For a second, she had thought the sound had been something else. Or perhaps she hadn't truly suspected, only hoped.

She wondered if she would see _him_ again. After all, it was well and truly done with now. The game was over. Something like a truce had been declared; the outcome was a tie. Was this the only way to see him, though - to decide to play the game? After all, he was supposed to come when she called… But he wasn't exactly like a school friend she could ring up to invite over for the afternoon, or something like that. They were friendly now, that seemed implicit, at least… but it wasn't exactly a conventional friendship… really, it had to be more than that, it felt like more than just ordinary old 'friendship', it didn't seem right to call someone as… well, _amazing_ as he was, a mere 'friend'… it had been more special than that… more magical, more unreal, more dream-like… it had been almost – well, in fact, exactly – like a _storybook romance_…

Preoccupied with her thoughts, she hadn't been looking at the path before her; her foot hit a patch of ice, then slid out from under her, taking her by surprise. She lost her balance and toppled backwards-

It seemed a rush of wind flew across the parkland and swooped her up before she could hit the ground. One strong hand had fastened on hers; another supported the small of her back, lifting her upright again. Snow flurries streamed through her vision as the wind suddenly picked up; it took her a second to realize that amongst the snowflakes, a few stray gossamer strands of long, blond hair billowed in the breeze. The hands shifted, manoeuvring her safely back onto her feet. It was a strange echo back to another instance when she had fallen and disembodied hands had caught her; however these hands were not completely alone, divorced from any personage. She could feel him standing very close to her, as though his mere presence emanated from him. Still getting her breath back from the suddenness of it all – and at the expectation of who she _hoped_ it might be – she turned to face him. She wasn't disappointed.

He was wearing a heavy winter coat that reached almost to his knees. It was made of rather ordinary, thick corduroy, yet it was of a style like none she had seen being worn around her neighbourhood before – its hem was cut almost like old-fashioned tails on a frock coat, and it was brownish-burgundy, almost _red_, with a wide ruff of fur on the collar and the wrist that didn't look like the synthetic stuff on the fashionable jackets most people wore. He was otherwise casually dressed in dark jeans, boots, black shirt and black denim vest. The long scarf knotted around his neck fluttered around his shoulders in the breeze, rather like a pair of outstretched wings. But she didn't really notice any of these irrelevant details. Her gaze was solely riveted on the hand that held hers. The heavy fur cuff on his coat sleeve was rolled back to reveal his shirt sleeve, which instead of having a button, was held together with a decorative cuff link – one in the shape of a little silver owl, with delicate feathers etched in silver on its wing and wide, rhinestone eyes glimmering in its tiny owlish face.

She remembered back to that afternoon, when she had gone back to fetch her glove. She had _known _then, known that the tiny silver dots she had seen upon the wrists of the goblin figurine on her desk - specks of silver paint that had never been there before – must have corresponded with _these_ on the real thing… the sight then had pleased her, had made her smile… because it had let her know that he was wearing them, that he evidently _liked her Christmas present_…

She continued her line of gaze past their still-interlocked hands, to the face that looked steadily down into hers, eyes glittering rather like rhinestones themselves, though these ones were of mismatched shades of blue. His hair only just brushed his collar, and was slicked neatly over in a contemporary style – the better to fit into the human world, perhaps - yet otherwise the face was the one she knew. At the moment its expression, however, was not a familiar one; it was far softer, and far more gleeful, than any that she had witnessed there before.

He unclasped their hands, uncoiling his other arm from around her waist, where he had caught her in mid-fall; she only realized when he drew away from her slightly that her face was hot and flushed, brought on by his close proximity to her. It hadn't really startled or frightened her to find him suddenly so close to her, as it had several months ago, when he had suddenly leant over her shoulder as they stood on a hilltop overlooking the Labyrinth. In this instance, his presence was actually comforting, and more thrilling than frightening. He offered her his arm. She took it, linking her arm through his in the old fashioned way. Together, they resumed the walk she had been taking along the path, his arm supporting her at the elbow, conducting her along in a gallant fashion. _Like the couple in the snow globe again…_

She darted a glance into the stream, just to check she wasn't dreaming; she saw two smudges of colour on the frozen surface, two reflections. Two people. Both of them were really _here_… this wasn't just a dream…

He held up his other hand, encased, as was his habit, in a glove of black leather. The owl cuff link's gemlike eyes twinkled at her in the weak winter sun that had broken through a gap in the clouds, making the snowdrifts shimmer like crystal, the still-falling snowflakes like sunbeams descending from the sky.

"Thank you."

The words were simple, yet their tone was rich as velvet; their slight tremor, coupled with the look of insurmountable gratitude written upon his features, impressed upon her the full import and sincerity of his words.

"My pleasure," she answered in a small, almost shy voice, yet clearly audible in the tranquil stillness of the snowy landscape. And as she said it, she meant it. In every syllable, every word.

His smile broadened; he beamed down at her. The mildness she saw in the sparkling blue in his eyes made her wonder if she had ever really feared him, or merely been fascinated by him – two points of blue light flashing in a handsome face. This time not haughty or defensive; this time lit by the gentleness of love.

"Merry Christmas, Sarah."

And although, perhaps, the words were a day too late…

…it was.

* * *

*****THE END*****

**

* * *

**

_And so concludes my special holiday-themed Labyrinth story - a little after Christmas, but nevertheless, I hope people have enjoyed it. From the reviews I've been getting, it sounds like people have been enjoying it, thank you so much for your support, I have loved receiving so many reviews, they have been very encouraging. This marks the first multi-chapter story - barring a one-shot I once did - that I have actually brought to conclusion, which is a bit of a special event in itself (especially considering the lengths of the epics I usually write _ )_

_If you enjoyed this story, please feel free to check out my other Labyrinth story, _'Don't Dream It's Over'_, one of the aforementioned epics, and a story that delves very deeply into Jareth's past. And believe me, it is an epic, I've been plotting out the story and I can see it easily running for 20-30 chapters. I will be taking a break from Laby fiction after this one to update some of the other fics I've been neglecting, but a new chapter for 'Don't Dream' is underway, and will be coming out over the next month or so. Also, I am considering now writing another holiday-themed fic, probably just a one-shot, to go with Valentine's Day, since in the second-last chapter, Jareth mentioned the holiday. I wouldn't want to disappoint him, but don't quote me on that, it will depend on whether I have enough time, and whether the idea fully forms itself in my mind before Feb 14th._

_Also, if you feel so inclined, please check out my deviantart gallery at __**wai-jing. deviantart. com **(delete the spaces to get the link to work), I currently have a picture of Jareth, as he appears in his red-caped-fur-lined-outfit, that is currently in progress and my sketches are there to be viewed. I'll hopefully follow it up with some general Jareth and Sarah works later on, drawing is in fact my first love and I'd really like to create some Labyrinth-related stuff through it._

_Otherwise, thanks a lot for reading, hope you enjoyed it, and have enjoyed the holidays._

_Cheers, take care, and peace out, **  
~ Wai-Jing**_


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